
The first person to learn the news was the Rector, and it was his daughter who carried it to Staples, the most considerable house in the neighbourhood, where it was variously received. Mrs Underhill, who knew no more of Sir Waldo than the Rector’s most illiterate parishioner, but understood, from the awe in Miss Chartley’s face, that the news was remarkable, said, in a placid voice: “Fancy!” Miss Charlotte, a bouncing fifteen-year-old, looked for guidance at Miss Trent, her adolescent adoration of her young preceptress having led her to regard that lady as an authority on any subject which came under discussion; and Mrs Underhill’s niece, Miss Theophania Wield, fixed her large, suddenly sparkling eyes on Miss Chartley’s face, and uttered breathlessly: “Is it true? Coming to Broom Hall? Oh, you’re shamming it, Patience—I know you are!”
Miss Trent, though the announcement had caused her to look up from her stitchery, her brows raised in momentary surprise, resumed her work, volunteering no remark; but Mr Courtenay Underhill, who had lounged in to pay his respects to his mama’s visitor, exclaimed in the liveliest astonishment: “Sir Waldo Hawkridge? Old Calver’s heir? Good God! Mama, did you hear? Sir Waldo Hawkridge!”
“Yes, dear. Well, I’m sure I hope he’ll find it to his liking, though it will be wonderful if he does, the way Mr Calver let all go to rack and ruin! I don’t seem able to recall him at the moment, but there! I never was one for remembering names—not but what you’d think I should keep that one in my head, for I never heard such a funny one!”
