“Don’t be frightened; the gray-haired monster that dyes his whiskers, and gets him up to look only sixty, interposed and forbade the consecration.”

“I am glad of it.  You shall sleep in mine, dear, and I will go into the east room.  It is a sweet little room.”

“Is it? then why not put me there?” Lucy colored a little.  “I think mine would suit you better, dear, because it is larger and airier, and—­”

“I see.  As you please; you know I never make difficulties.”

“And how long have you been here, aunt?”

“About three hours.”

“Three hours, and not send for me!  I was only in the village.  Did no one tell you?”

“Yes; but you know it is not my way to make a fuss and put people out.  How could I tell?  You might be agreeably employed, and I was sure of you before bedtime.”

Mighty-fine! but the truth is, she came to Font Abbey to pry.  She had heard a vague report about Lucy and a gentleman.

She was very glad to find Lucy was out; it gave her an opportunity.  She sent for Lucy’s maid to help her unpack a dress or two—­thirteen.  This girl was paid out of Lucy’s estate, but did not know that.  Mrs. Bazalgette handed her her wages, and that gives an influence.  The wily matron did not trust to that alone.  In unpacking she gave the girl a dress and several smaller presents, and, this done, slowly and cautiously pumped her.  Jane, to fulfill her share of a bargain, which, though never once alluded to, was perfectly understood between both the parties, told her all she knew and all she conjectured; told her, in particular, how constantly Mr. Talboys was in the house, and how, one night, the old gentleman had walked part of the way home with him, “which Mr. Thomas says he didn’t think his master would do it for the king, mum!” and had come in all of a flurry, and sent up for miss, and swore* awful when she couldn’t come because she was abed.  “So you may depend, mum, it is so; leastways, the gentlemen they are willing.  We talk it over mostly every day in the servants’ hall, mum, and we are all of a mind so fur; but whether it will come to a wedding, that we haven’t a settled yet.  It’s miss beats us; she is like no other young lady ever I came anigh.  A man or woman—­it is all the same to her—­a kind word for everybody, and pass on.  But I do really think she likes her own side of the house a trifle the best.”

The ladies of the bedchamber will embellish.  After all, it is their business.

“And there you don’t agree with her, Jane?”

“Well, mum—­being as we are alone—­now is it natural?  But Mr. Thomas he says, ’The cold ones take the first offer that comes when there is money ahind it.  It isn’t us they wants,’ says he.  I told him I should think not the likes of him—­’but our house and land,’ says he, ’and hopera box and cetera.’  ‘But I don’t think that of our one,’ says I; ‘bless you, she is too high-minded.’  But what I think, mum, is, she wouldn’t say ‘no’ to her uncle; her mouth don’t seem made for saying no, especially to him; and he is bent on Talboys, mum, you take my word.”