"Will you tell me nothing, Mrs. Fortress, that will throw light upon the dark spaces of my life?"
"I have nothing to tell, sir."
To a man less under control than myself this iteration of unwillingness would have been intolerable, but I knew that nothing was to be gained by giving way to anger. I should have been the sufferer and the loser by it.
"Looking down, Mrs. Fortress, upon the dead body of my mother, you made the remark that it was a happy release."
"Death is to all a happy release, sir."
"A common platitude, which does not deceive me."
"You cannot forget, sir, that your mother was a great sufferer."
"I forget very little. Mrs. Fortress, in this interview I think you have not behaved graciously--nay, more, that you have not behaved with fairness or justice."
"Upon that point, sir," she said composedly, "you may not be a competent judge."
Her manner was so perfectly respectful that I could not take exception to this retort. She seemed, however, to be aware that she was upon dangerous ground, for she rose, and I made no further attempt to detain her. But now it was she who lingered, unbidden, with something on her mind of which she desired to speak. I raised my head, and wondered whether, of her own free will, she was about to satisfy my curiosity.