‘A tenant of Mr. Wyndham’s. He is a friend of mine, you know; and he told me lately he had grown very tired of the Cottage, and was willing to take a tenant for it. This lady is, I presume, the tenant.’
‘The more reason why we should call upon her,’ says Susan.
‘But isn’t she very young,’ says Betty, ‘to be a tenant all by herself?’
This startling suggestion creates a slight pause.
‘To be young is not to be beyond misfortune,’ says Crosby at last, in a grave and very general tone. ‘No doubt this young lady has lost her father and mother, and is obliged to—er—do without them.’
This is distinctly lame.
‘Poor thing!’ says Susan sympathetically.
‘We might ask her over here sometimes,’ says Carew.
‘But if she has lost her parents lately,’ puts in Crosby hastily, ‘she might, perhaps—one should not even with the best intentions force one’s self upon people in such deep grief as hers.’
‘She wasn’t in mourning, any way,’ says Betty, who can always tell you to a pin what anyone is wearing; ‘she had a little blue bow near her neck.’