"Ah!" I said. "And you live up at Felonsdene. To tell the truth, I didn't know anybody lived there. I remember the place—came on it two years ago or more when I was roaming over the downs. There was a farm-house all in ruins—and, let me see, was there a cottage? I didn't come upon anybody living there then. I remember that, because I was thirsty after my walk and couldn't get a drink."
"There was no one there then, and there is no cottage. We came last year. Part of the farm-house has been repaired."
"Well, you've struck about the loneliest spot in England. Who's your landlord?"
"Eh? It's mine—I bought it. Two acres and the farm-house. Had trouble to get it—a deal of trouble."
"And who's with your wife now?" I asked.
"Nobody. She's alone in the house."
"Well, that's not right," I said.
"We have no servants—do everything ourselves. The nearest house is a farmer's at Sandene, three miles away, and we've had no dealings with him. It couldn't be helped, and—she's different, you know. I was not long in coming to you. I caught the mail-cart as soon as I reached the road, and got a lift."
"Still, I'm thinking—how am I to get on?"
"You'll find I can do anything a woman can do, and do it better. I am more intelligent and I have no nerves. You must pull up at the next gate, doctor. We strike across the downs there."