When Mrs. Curwen herself heard of my return, she met it very differently.
"I am so glad, Mr. Ferdinand. It would have been so tiresome if you hadn't been returning. I don't believe I could possibly have ventured out there alone, and you can be of such use to me. And, of course, now that poor Lord Glisfoyle is dead, Mercy can go with me."
"You are really going to venture out there?" I asked, not over pleased by the news.
"Venture? Of course I am. I'm going on business, you know. My lawyer has put before me a most tempting speculation—a Spanish silver mine; and I'm going out to look into it myself. A poor lone widow must have something to occupy her, you see. Now, you will be nice, won't you, and give me all the help you can?"
"I really think you'd better not go," said I; and I meant it very heartily.
"You know, that's real sweet of you. It's the first nice thing you've said since you came back. It shows you take sufficient interest in me to wish me to keep out of danger."
"If you persist in going I can help you a good deal, I think," I said, gravely.
"Of course we're going."
"Then I can introduce to you just the best fellow in the world—my old friend, Silas Mayhew, and he'll do everything you want."
"I do think you're horrid, and that's a fact," she cried, turning away with a pout of annoyance. But nothing would stop her going, and such was her resolution that she did not rest content until she had arranged to make the journey with Mercy under my escort.