“Who are you speaking of?” asked I again.
“Well, of a visitor I had; or two, as I have just said,--the master and the man. The master speaks English very tolerably; the man is the real, native, original article, newly imported. I am in good condition myself,” said the good Doctor, giving a quiet unconscious pinch on his plump wrist; “but anything like that, you know, goes quite beyond me. You would have laughed to see poor young Hubert, poor fellow, talking to him in his high Dantesque way, and the fat fellow dashing in through the midst of it all, helter skelter, in _real_ Italian. Ha! ha! it was a most amusing scene.”
“Italian?” said I, scarcely venturing to speak above my breath, my consternation was so great.
“Yes,” said Dr. Roberts, calmly, with still a little agitation of laughter about his voice--the discomfiture of the curate amused him excessively--“Italian. The young man called on me to ask after a lady, whom he supposed to be living in this neighbourhood, a Countess Sermoneta. Did you ever hear of such a person, Miss Milly?”
“No,” said I, as quietly as I could. Sarah took no notice, showed no curiosity, betrayed to me that she _had_ heard this name before, and did not learn the particulars of the stranger’s inquiry for the first time. In general she liked to hear the news; and though she rarely took any part in the conversation, listened to it, and showed that she did so. To-day she never raised her head. Perhaps I was over-suspicious; but this entire want of interest only added to my bewildering doubts.
At this point little Sara came forward, and thrust herself, as was natural, into a conversation so interesting to her; I only wondered she had not done it sooner.
“That is poor Mr. Luigi, that has been so much talked of in Chester,” cried Sara; “and godmamma met him on the road, and promised to try and find out for him. Do make her take it up, please Dr. Roberts. Did _you_ never hear of the lady either? How strange nobody should have heard of her! Who was she, does he say? What does he want with her? do tell us, dear Dr. Roberts, please.”
Sarah’s knitting-pins had dropped out of her hand when her goddaughter broke in upon Dr. Roberts’ good-humoured drowsy talk. I turned to help her to pick them up, but she waved me away. What _could_ be the matter? she was trembling all over like an aspen leaf.