"I don't know, May. But it just shows how short a time it takes to spoil a man; for I was really rather a jolly kind of bachelor."
But at the notion of her shy, silent, grave Gilbert ever having been a jolly bachelor, May laughed in the most unkind and disrespectful way.
"You may laugh," said Gilbert; and May seemed to agree with him, for she did laugh very heartily. Then she said,—
"How are all the poor people, Gilbert. How is the boy we met at Lady Mabel's Rest? And oh! How are the two new people there going on?"
"I have seen Mrs. Short several times, and she always tells me what a good kind of woman she is. I've nothing to say against it—she ought to know, of course. Mr. Trulock I have only seen in church; he is always out when I call."
"I must go there to-morrow. When does Mr. Barton come home?"
"Not until June, I think," replied Mr. Cloudesley.
May kept her word, and the next day, putting on her warmest wraps, for it was bitter February weather, she trotted down the hill, over the bridge, and away to Lady Mabel's Rest. She paid one or two visits—one to Miss Jones. Miss Jones was that unnatural thing, a very disagreeable Christian. She had a heart of gold, loved her Master and served Him for love's sake, but she had a queer temper and a natural love of fault-finding. If she had not been a good woman, she would have been a most censorious one; as it was, she never permitted herself to speak ill of the absent, but she "took it out" in scolding. She was greatly pleased to see Mrs. Cloudesley, and had a hundred questions to ask about Polly Burr, a girl whom she had trained, and who was now Mrs. Cloudesley's cook.
"Polly is a really good girl," said May, "and an excellent servant. You really have a gift for training servants, Miss Jones."
Miss Jones's dark, solemn face softened into a pleased smile.