“Forgotten you!” Governor Marden’s tone was reproachful.
“Do you think ten years is enough to forget friends in?” he demanded. “Why—” with a laugh,—“even a political memory’s longer than that, Kate.”
There was silence for a moment, and silence was the last thing the Governor desired at that time.
“I never heard where you went after Ed’s death,” he said, tentatively.
“You wouldn’t a’ bin likely to,” was the reply. “I moved round considerable after that.”
“So? How’s the world used you, on the whole? Pretty prosperous?”
“Up an’ down. I ain’t so awful prosperous; but I ain’t complainin’ neither. I’m alive, an’ what I am, workin’ fer my livin’ an’ neither better nor worse ’n some other folks.” Mrs. Hallard spoke lightly, and her tone was non-committal.
“I’ll bet you aren’t any worse than other folks,” the Governor said, with bluff good-will. “You were always better than ninety-nine hundredths of the men, Kate,” he added, “while as for the women—”
Kate Hallard interrupted him.
“Don’t you bother about them, Dave,” said she, “I ain’t matchin’ myself up with no women. It don’t pay.”