"And how are all the dear old folks at home?"
"More or less cold and coughing—it's been a hard winter."
"And you came out to escape from it?" she questioned.
"Well—not exactly," he answered, after a momentary hesitation.
"Would it be too, too rude, to enquire what did bring you?"
Mallender found it impossible to impart to this charming lady, with the soft voice and alluring eyes, the real, true, and only reason, for his presence in the country. As he looked back at her, he realised how ridiculous and preposterous his errand would appear.
"My house is under repair"—sudden happy thought—"and I really am without a roof!"
"Then you are a wanderer like myself," she exclaimed. "I have spent eight months in India, and I must soon be thinking of 'Home, sweet Home.'"
"And no doubt your husband—but, of course, he is with you——" Mallender stopped short; in an illuminating flash he recognised his blunder. The lady's face had suddenly stiffened, her expression undergone a curious change. She looked away for a moment, and then, still looking away, let fall the deliberate words:
"I am a widow."