The porter, whilom an agricultural labourer, looks after them with a long and steady stare.

It is not the first time he has seen this, but he can hardly take it in yet.
'She do come the lady grandish, don't her ?' the dealer remarks meditatively.

'Now her father----' 'Ay,' interrupts the porter, 'he be one of the old sort; but she----' he cannot get any further for lack of an appropriate illustration.

The arrival of mademoiselle periodically takes their breath away at that little place.
As the pair rattle along in the pony trap there is for a time a total silence.

Mademoiselle looks neither to the right nor the left, and asks after nobody.