“I will speak to him about it,” she answered.
It was not light enough for me to see her face, but I observed that she spoke in a tone of indifference, as if scarcely heeding what she said. At the same time she took her seat on the divan, and asked me to sit by her.
“Is your father well?” I asked, putting the question out of courtesy, for by this time we both knew that the poor man was ruined by his dreadful habit, from which it was impossible he should ever be released.
“Yes, I think so. I have not seen him lately,” she said, still with the same distracted air.
I will confess, plainly, that I had begun to have fears for her, lest either the ravages of the climate, or the sufferings she had undergone, had wrought upon her mind.
“I come to bring you bad news,” I went on. “The Nabob has died.”
“So I have understood,” Marian replied in the same listless way. Then, seeming to recollect herself, she added quickly—“I learnt the news this afternoon from a friend.”
Since her arrival I knew that some of the ladies of the settlement had shown Marian some kindness, inviting her to their houses occasionally. One of these ladies, I concluded, had been beforehand with me in my intelligence.
“I am glad to see you so easy under the circumstances,” I said, feeling perhaps a little jealous. “I suppose you know that the new Nabob is no friend to the Company, and that we may have trouble with him before many months are past.”