There
was not one of the townspeople she had not known from their earliest
appearance in Upton, and she had the pedigree of all the families, high
and low, at her finger-ends. New-comers she could only tolerate until
they had lived respectably and paid their debts punctually for a good
number of years. She had a kindly love of gossip, a simple real interest
in the fortunes of all about her. There was little else for her to think
of, for books and newspapers came seldom in her way, and were often far
above her comprehension when they did, Upton news that would bring tears
to her eyes or a laugh to her lips was the food her mind lived upon. Ann
Holland was almost as general a favorite as the rector himself.
It was some months after David Chantrey had gone to Madeira that Ann
Holland was lingering late one evening over her door, watching the
little street subside into the quietness of night. The wife of one of
her best customers was passing by, and stopped to speak to her.
"Have you happened to hear any talk of Mrs. Chantrey?" she asked. Her
voice fell into a low and mysterious tone, and she glanced up and down
the street lest any one should chance to be within hearing.
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