Lucy laughed at the recollection.  She had had the pleasure of beholding the spectacle.  Lionel laughed now at the description.  Their mirth did not please Lady Verner.  She was serious in her complaint.

“Lionel, you would not have liked it yourself.  Fancy his turning out of Verner’s Pride in that guise, and encountering visitors!  I don’t know how it is, but there’s some deficiency in Jan; something wanting.  You know he generally chooses to come here by the back door:  this day, because he had got the black kettle in his hand like a travelling tinker, he must go out by the front.  He did!  It saved him a few steps, and he went out without a blush.  Out of my house, Lionel!  Nobody ever lived, I am certain, who possessed so little innate notion of the decencies of life as Jan.  Had he met a carriage full of visitors in the courtyard, he would have swung the kettle back on his arm, and gone up to shake hands with them.  I had the nightmare that night, Lionel.  I dreamt a tall giant was pursuing me, seeking to throw some great machine at me, made of tea-kettles.”

“Jan is an odd fellow,” assented Lionel.

“The worst is, you can’t bring him to see, himself, what is proper or improper,” resumed Lady Verner.  “He has no sense of the fitness of things.  He would go as unblushingly through the village with that black kettle held out before him, as he would if it were her Majesty’s crown, borne on a velvet cushion.”

“I am not sure but the crown would embarrass Jan more than the kettle,” said Lionel, laughing still.

“Oh, I dare say; it would be just like him.  Have you heard of the disgraceful flitting away of some of the inhabitants here to go after the Mormons?” added my lady.

“Jan has been telling me of it.  What with one thing and another, Deerham will rise into notoriety.  Nancy has gone from Verner’s Pride.”

“Poor deluded woman!” ejaculated Lady Verner.

“There’s a story told in the village about that Peckaby’s wife—­Decima can tell it best, though.  I wonder where she is?”

Lucy rose.  “I will go and find her, Lady Verner.”

No sooner had she quitted the room, than Lady Verner turned to Lionel, her manner changing.  She began to speak rapidly, with some emotion.

“You observed that I looked well, Lionel.  I told you I was flushed.  The flush was caused by vexation, by anger.  Not a week passes but something or other occurs to annoy me.  I shall be worried into my grave.”

“What has happened?” inquired Lionel.

“It is about Lucy Tempest.  Here she is, upon my hands, and of course I am responsible.  She has no mother, and I am responsible to Colonel Tempest and to my own conscience for her welfare.  She will soon be twenty years of age—­though I am sure nobody would believe it, to look at her—­and it is time that her settlement in life should, at all events, be thought of.  But now, look how things turn out!  Lord Garle—­than whom a better parti could not be wished—­has fallen in love with her.  He made her an offer yesterday, and she won’t have him.”