“No particular reason, except that I’d like to identify the language.”
“You’re not going to speak to Perkins herself, are you?”
“No,” he smiled. “Far be it from me to put my finger into the wheels of domestic comfort. Anything more about her?”
“Nothing except that I’m going to try and cheer her up, and coax out a smile or two. As it is she smiles about once a week. Then there’s Martin.”
“And what of him?”
“I don’t quite know. I’ve been watching him at work and talking to him occasionally, and what strikes me is that here at Beech Lodge are two of the loneliest souls imaginable. I’ve got it now!” she added suddenly. “Why shouldn’t they marry?”
“Oh!” said Derrick, startled.
“Well, just think a minute. It might work splendidly for all concerned,” continued Edith, warming to the idea. “Martin, in spite of his appearance, is as faithful as a dog, and he absolutely loves flowers. This place is going to be a picture next summer. He’s had some sort of a blow, too, and his eyes are often more sad than I can describe, and not a bit shifty or furtive. And he’s beginning to like you just as he used to like Mr. Millicent from all accounts. Jack, why shouldn’t they marry? Don’t you suppose it’s possible that that’s what brought him back, looking for Perkins?”
Derrick did not answer at once. The idea was too fantastic. It was not Perkins that Martin sought when he returned, nor was she the type of woman to bring a suspected man round the world to a place which for every reason he should avoid. They shared something; he was sure of that; but whatever it was it had dug a gulf between them, and to discover a bridge to span that gulf was Derrick’s aim.
“If I were you I’d put that idea out of my head,” he said quietly.