You know it was reported a month ago, that somebody was going to take Wildfell Hall--and--what do you think?
It has actually been inhabited above a week!--and we never knew!' 'Impossible!' cried my mother.
'Preposterous!!!' shrieked Fergus.
'It has indeed!--and by a single lady!' 'Good gracious, my dear! The place is in ruins!' 'She has had two or three rooms made habitable; and there she lives, all alone--except an old woman for a servant!' 'Oh, dear! that spoils it--I'd hoped she was a witch,' observed Fergus, while carving his inch-thick slice of bread and butter.

'Nonsense, Fergus! But isn't it strange, mamma ?' 'Strange! I can hardly believe it.' 'But you may believe it; for Jane Wilson has seen her.

She went with her mother, who, of course, when she heard of a stranger being in the neighbourhood, would be on pins and needles till she had seen her and got all she could out of her.

She is called Mrs.Graham, and she is in mourning--not widow's weeds, but slightish mourning--and she is quite young, they say,--not above five or six and twenty,--but so reserved! They tried all they could to find out who she was and where she came from, and, all about her, but neither Mrs.Wilson, with her pertinacious and impertinent home-thrusts, nor Miss Wilson, with her skilful manoeuvring, could manage to elicit a single satisfactory answer, or even a casual remark, or chance expression calculated to allay their curiosity, or throw the faintest ray of light upon her history, circumstances, or connections.

Moreover, she was barely civil to them, and evidently better pleased to say 'good-by,' than 'how do you do.' But Eliza Millward says her father intends to call upon her soon, to offer some pastoral advice, which he fears she needs, as, though she is known to have entered the neighbourhood early last week, she did not make her appearance at church on Sunday; and she--Eliza, that is--will beg to accompany him, and is sure she can succeed in wheedling something out of her--you know, Gilbert, she can do anything.