“And you are Mrs. Fitch?”
“Callate to be,” said the mother. “If it ain't askin' too much, I'd like to know your name.”
“I'm Victoria Flint. I live not very far from the Four Corners—that is, about eight miles. May I come over and see you sometime?”
Although Victoria said this very simply, the mother's eyes widened until one might almost have said they expressed a kind of terror.
“Land sakes alive, be you Mr. Flint's daughter? I might have knowed it from the lace—that dress must have cost a fortune. But I didn't think to find you so common.”
Victoria did not smile. She had heard the word “common” so used before, and knew that it was meant for a compliment, and she turned to the woman with a very expressive light in her eyes.
“I will come to see you—this very week,” she said. And just then her glance, seemingly drawn in a certain direction, met that of a tall young man which had been fixed upon her during the whole of this scene. She coloured again, abruptly handed the baby back to his mother, and rose.
“I'm neglecting all these people,” she said, “but do sit there and rest yourself and—have some more lemonade.”
She bowed to Austen, and smiled a little as she filled the glasses, but she did not beckon him. She gave no further sign of her knowledge of his presence until he stood beside her—and then she looked up at him.
“I have been looking for you, Miss Flint,” he said.