“Oh, I wonder who he is?” she cried, low, but eager, in her sister’s ear. “Who can he be, Ursula, who can he be? We know all the men about here, everyone, as well as we know Reginald. Oh, Ursula, who do you think he can be?”
“He is very impertinent,” cried Ursula, with an angry blush. “How should I know? And oh! how very silly of you, Janey, to talk so loud, and make impudent men stare at us so.”
“Impudent!” cried Janey. “I didn’t talk loud. He looked rather nice, on the contrary. Why, he laughed! Do you call that impudent? It can’t be anybody from the town, because we know everybody; and did you see him shaking hands with that man? How very funny! Let us run in and tell Mrs. Sam Hurst, and ask her who she thinks he is. She is sure to know.”
“Janey,” said Ursula, severely, “if you live very long, you will be as great a gossip and as fond of news as Mrs. Sam Hurst herself.”
“I don’t care,” cried Janey; “you’re just as fond of news as I am, only you won’t confess it. I am dying to know who he is. He is quite nice-looking, and tall and grand. A new gentleman! Come, quick, Ursula; let us get back and see where he goes.”
“Janey!” cried the elder sister. She was half curious herself, but Ursula was old enough to know better, and to be ashamed of the other’s naive and undisguised curiosity. “Oh, what would Cousin Anne say! A girl running after a gentleman (even if he is a gentleman), to see where he goes!”
“Well!” cried Janey, “if she wants to know, what else is she to do? Who cares for Cousin Anne? She is an old maid. Why, if it had been a lady, I shouldn’t have minded. There are so many ladies; but a new gentleman! If you won’t come on, I will run by myself. How pleased Mrs. Sam Hurst will be!”
“I thought you hated Mrs. Sam Hurst?”
“So I do when I think of papa; but when there’s anything going on, or anything to find out, I like her dearly. She’s such fun! She never shilly-shallies, like you. She’s not an old maid like your Cousin Anne that you are always talking of. Come along! if anybody else finds out who he is before we do,” cried Janey, with almost despairing energy, “I shall break my heart!”
Ursula stoically resisted the tug upon her, but she went back to Grange Lane, to which, indeed, she had turned her face before they met the stranger, and she could not help seeing the tall black figure in front of her which Janey watched so eagerly. Ursula was not eager, but she could not help seeing him. He walked up the street quickly, not as if he thought himself of interest to anyone, but when he had got halfway up Grange Lane, crossed to speak to somebody. This filled Janey with consternation.
“He is not such a stranger after all,” she cried. “He knows someone. He will not be quite a discovery. Who is it he is talking to, I wonder? He is standing at one of the doors, but it is not Miss Humphreys, nor Miss Griffiths, nor any of the Charters. Perhaps she is a stranger too. If he is married he won’t be half so interesting, for there are always plenty of ladies. Perhaps he has just come by the railway to spend the day—but then there is nothing to see in Carlingford, and how did he know that man at the lots? Oh, Ursula, why don’t you answer me? why don’t you say something? have you no feeling? I am sure it don’t matter a bit to me, for I am not out; I am never asked to parties—but I take an interest for you other girls’ sake.”
Before this time, however, Ursula had found a new object of interest. She had not been quite so unmoved as Janey supposed. A new gentleman was a thing to awaken anybody who knew Carlingford, for, indeed, gentlemen were scarce in the society of the little town, and even at the most mild of tea-parties it is ludicrous to see one man (and that most likely a curate) among a dozen ladies—so that even when she appeared to Janey to wonder, she felt that her sister’s curiosity was not unjustifiable. But while thus engaged in the enterprise of discovering “a new gentleman” for the good of society, Ursula’s eyes and her attention were caught by another interest. The stranger had crossed the street to talk to a lady, who had been walking down the Lane, and whom Ursula felt she had seen somewhere. Who was it? Certainly not Miss Humphreys, nor Miss Griffiths, nor any other of the well-known young ladies of Grange Lane. The setting sun, which had come out suddenly after a dull day, threw a slanting, long-drawn ray up the street, which fell upon the strangers, as they stood talking. This ray caught the young lady’s hair, and flashed back a reflection out of the shining coils which looked to Ursula (being dark herself, she admired golden hair
