She does not answer Mrs. Prior immediately, but strokes her beard behind the gate, and smiles languidly to herself. Hah! He’s tould ’em! He’s found out for himself that he loves her! The crathure! An’ why not! Fegs, there isn’t her aqual between this and the Injies! An’, of course, it is a mark of honour designed by him to his young lady, that his aunt should come an’ pay her respects to her. For all this, she is still cautious, and now opens the gate to Mrs. Prior by only an inch or so at a time. Mrs. Prior, on this, calmly and with the leisurely manner that belongs to her, moves forward a step or two, a step that places her parasol and her arm inside the gateway. ‘You are, I can see, a most faithful guardian,’ says she pleasantly, and with the distinctly approving tones of the superior to the efficient inferior. ‘I shall take care to tell Mr. Wyndham my opinion of you.’ The little sinister meaning in her speech is clouded in smiles. She takes another step forward that brings not only her arm and parasol, but herself, inside the gate; thus mistress of the situation, she smiles again—this time a little differently, but still with the utmost suavity. ‘This young lady?’ asks she. ‘She is in the house, no doubt? If you could let me see her without any formal introduction, it would be so much more friendly, it seems to me.’ Mrs. Denis’s ample bosom swells with joy and pride. Her beard vibrates. ‘Friendly.’ So they are going to be friendly—those people of his! After all, perhaps Miss Ella is a princess in disguise, and they have only just found it out. ‘Well, she looks one—wid her little feet, an’ her little hands, an’ those small features of hers.’ ‘No, ma’am,’ says she, addressing Mrs. Prior with a courtesy she seldom uses to anyone. ‘Miss Ella is in the garding; an’ as you say ye’d like to see her all be yerself, if ye’ll go round that corner ye’ll find her aisy, near the hollyhocks. An’ I’ll tell ye this,’ says Mrs. Denis, squaring her arms, and growing sentimental, ‘’tis plazed ye’ll be whin ye do see her.’ ‘I feel sure of that,’ says Mrs. Prior. She speaks quite calmly, yet a rage of hatred shakes her. Glad to see this abominable creature, who has interfered with the marriage of her daughter! ‘She’s got the face of an angel, ma’am.’ ‘And the heart of one, of course,’ says Mrs. Prior. The sarcasm is thrown away upon Mrs. Denis, who is now bursting with a pæan addressed to her goddess. ‘Ay, ma’am. Fegs, ’tis aisy to see the masther has bin’ tellin’ you about her.’ ‘Just a little,’ says Mrs. Prior. ‘He——’ ‘He thinks a dale of her,’ says Mrs. Denis, putting her hand to her mouth, and speaking mysteriously. ‘I can see that much, but ’tis little he says. But sure, ye know him. ’Tis mighty quiet he is entirely.’ ‘Yes, I think I know him. But this ... young lady——’ ‘Wisha! ’tis only keepin’ ye from her I am. An’ ’tis longin’ ye are to see her, ov course.’