“They?” Jervis seemed puzzled.
“Mr. Rutherford and—” a quiver passed over Marian’s face—“and—” But she did not seem able to say more.
“And—?” repeated Jervis.
“And—the young lady.”
“His daughter?”
“Not really,” murmured Marian. “He calls her his.”
“Ah, yes!” assented Jervis. “The handsome young lady who rides about with Mr. Rutherford. That’s it, I suppose. How is Mr. Rutherford getting on, Polly?”
“I haven’t seen him. He don’t come round as he ought. There’s a sort of weakness of mind. But I haven’t seen him once.”
“And you’ve been happy there, Polly—kindly treated?”
“Kindly? Yes—Mrs. Rutherford’s been as good as possible. She didn’t like me coming away to-day, but it was settled so. She’s better now, and don’t really need me—only she gets low and hysterical still. They haven’t been able to let her go to her husband yet; but she’ll see him now.”