Kirke at once transferred his inquiries
to the higher authority in the house.
"Do you know anything of this Mr. Vanstone who is down here on the
visitors' list?" asked the sailor. "Is he an old man?"
"He's a miserable little creature to look at," replied the landlady;
"but he's not old, captain."
"Then he's not the man I mean. Perhaps he is the man's son? Has he got
any ladies with him?"
The landlady tossed her head, and pursed up her lips disparagingly.
"He has a housekeeper with him," she said. "A middle-aged person--not
one of my sort. I dare say I'm wrong--but I don't like a dressy woman in
her station of life."
Mr. Kirke began to look puzzled. "I must have made some mistake about
the house," he said. "Surely there's a lawn cut octagon-shape
at Sea-view Cottage, and a white flag-staff in the middle of the
gravel-walk?"
"That's not Sea-view, sir! It's North Shingles you're talking of. Mr.
Bygrave's. His wife and his niece came here by the coach to-day. His
wife's tall enough to be put in a show, and the worst-dressed woman I
ever set eyes on. But Miss Bygrave is worth looking at, if I may venture
to say so. She's the finest girl, to my mind, we've had at Aldborough
for many a long day.
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