’’Tis; and yet ’tis not, for ‘tis a naterel taste,’ said the milkman, again surveying Ethelberta, who had now paused upon a bridge in full view, to look down the river.  ’Now, if a poor needy feller like myself could only catch her alone when she’s dressed up to the nines for some grand party, and carry her off to some lonely place—­sakes, what a pot of jewels and goold things I warrant he’d find about her!  ’Twould pay en for his trouble.’

’I don’t dispute the picter; but ’tis sly and untimely to think such roguery.  Though I’ve had thoughts like it, ’tis true, about high women—­Lord forgive me for’t.’

‘And that figure of fashion standing there is a widow woman, so I hear?’

’Lady—­not a penny less than lady.  Ay, a thing of twenty-one or thereabouts.’

’A widow lady and twenty-one.  ’Tis a backward age for a body who’s so forward in her state of life.’

’Well, be that as ’twill, here’s my showings for her age.  She was about the figure of two or three-and-twenty when a’ got off the carriage last night, tired out wi’ boaming about the country; and nineteen this morning when she came downstairs after a sleep round the clock and a clane-washed face:  so I thought to myself, twenty-one, I thought.’

‘And what’s the young woman’s name, make so bold, hostler?’

’Ay, and the house were all in a stoor with her and the old woman, and their boxes and camp-kettles, that they carry to wash in because hand-basons bain’t big enough, and I don’t know what all; and t’other folk stopping here were no more than dirt thencefor’ard.’

‘I suppose they’ve come out of some noble city a long way herefrom?’

’And there was her hair up in buckle as if she’d never seen a clay-cold man at all.  However, to cut a long story short, all I know besides about ’em is that the name upon their luggage is Lady Petherwin, and she’s the widow of a city gentleman, who was a man of valour in the Lord Mayor’s Show.’

’Who’s that chap in the gaiters and pack at his back, come out of the door but now?’ said the milkman, nodding towards a figure of that description who had just emerged from the inn and trudged off in the direction taken by the lady—­now out of sight.

‘Chap in the gaiters?  Chok’ it all—­why, the father of that nobleman that you call chap in the gaiters used to be hand in glove with half the Queen’s court.’

‘What d’ye tell o’?’

’That man’s father was one of the mayor and corporation of Sandbourne, and was that familiar with men of money, that he’d slap ’em upon the shoulder as you or I or any other poor fool would the clerk of the parish.’

‘O, what’s my lordlin’s name, make so bold, then?’