“Oh, he was only a servant; and he had over-stayed his three-score and ten years by something like twenty years. He must have been ninety!”
“Still, as an old servant . . . ”
Caswall’s words were not so cold as their inflection.
“I never interfere with servants. He was kept on here merely because he had been so long on the premises. I suppose the steward thought it might make him unpopular if the old fellow had been dismissed.”
How on earth was she to proceed on such a task as hers if this was the utmost geniality she could expect? So she at once tried another tack—this time a personal one.
“I am sorry I disturbed you. I am really not unconventional—though certainly no slave to convention. Still there are limits . . . it is bad enough to intrude in this way, and I do not know what you can say or think of the time selected, for the intrusion.”
After all, Edgar Caswall was a gentleman by custom and habit, so he rose to the occasion.
“I can only say, Lady Arabella, that you are always welcome at any time you may deign to honour my house with your presence.”
She smiled at him sweetly.
“Thank you so much. You do put one at ease. My breach of convention makes me glad rather than sorry. I feel that I can open my heart to you about anything.”