“How long?” he demanded of Janet.
“It was last year, I think,” said Janet, with emotion increased, her voice heavy with the load of its sympathy. When he first knew Janet an extraordinary quick generous concern for others had been one of her chief characteristics. But of late years, though her deep universal kindness had not changed, she seemed to have hardened somewhat on the surface. Now he found again the earlier Janet.
“You never told me.”
“The truth is, we didn’t know,” Janet said, and without giving Edwin time to put another question, she continued: “The poor thing’s had a great deal of trouble, a very great deal. George’s health, now! The sea air doesn’t suit him. And Hilda couldn’t possibly leave Brighton.”
“Oh! She’s still at Brighton?”
“Yes.”
“Let me see—she used to be at—what was it?—Preston Street?”
Janet glanced at him with interest: “What a memory you’ve got! Why, it’s ten years since she was here!”
“Nearly!” said Edwin. “It just happened to stick in my mind. You remember she came down to the shop to ask me about trains and things the day she left.”
“Did she?” Janet exclaimed, raising her eyebrows.