Anthony Hope

“ Merceron?” asked Agatha.
“Why, they was boys together,” interrupted the old farmer, who made little of the refinements of speech. In his youth no one, from the lord to the laborer, spoke grammar in the country. “Used to larn to swim together in the Pool, didn’t you, Willie?”
“I must have a dip there to-morrow,” cried Willie; and Agatha wondered what time he would choose. “And I’ll take you there, Nettie. Ever been yet?”
“No. They—they say it’s haunted, don’t they, Willie?”
“That’s nonsense,” said Willie. London makes a man sceptical. The old farmer shook his head and grunted doubtfully. ”

“ I’d been talking about Agatha Merceron.”
“Very well. I’m sorry it doesn’t satisfy you. If you won’t believe me——!”
“But your surname?”
“Oh, mine? Why, mine’s Brown.”
“Brown!” re-echoed Charlie, with a tinge of disappointment in his tone.
“Don’t you like it?” asked Miss Agatha Brown with a smile.
“Oh, it will do for the present,” laughed Charlie.
“Well, I don’t mean to keep it all my life. I’ve spent to-day, Mr. Merceron, in spying out your house. Nettie Wallace and I ventured quite near. It’s very pretty.” ”

“ Nettie smiled with pleasure.
“And now that you’ve other company I shall go.”
“You’re going, Miss?”
“Not Miss.”
Nettie laughed.
“I forget sometimes,” she said.
“Well, you must remember just over to-morrow. I shall go next day. I must meet my grandfather in London.” ”