Deane shook his head. "I never play," he answered. "I have come here to rest."
To rest! The word seemed a strange one to the fussy little man, who was already taking stock of his surroundings. Photographs in silver frames, a pile of books—all new, a gun and fishing-rod, and other such belongings—all, naturally, the best of their sort!
"Well, but you must do something!" Mr. Sarsby remarked. "You cannot sit here all day and look at the sea,—like the fishermen," he continued, with a little laugh. "A very lazy lot—our fishermen," he went on. "Never go out if there's a ripple on the sea."
Deane nodded. "The tides," he remarked, "are rather treacherous, I should think."
The servant brought in tea and a great dish of strawberries, at which Mr. Sarsby gazed in amazement.
"Strawberries!" he exclaimed. "Why, we don't begin to think about them for another six weeks!"
"Is that so?" answered Deane, carelessly. "I never know anything about seasons, and my man is doing the catering. Miss Sinclair, you must make the tea for us. I am afraid our methods are a little crude, but you see we are trying to get along without any women-servants."
Mr. Sarsby was a little abashed. He had seldom sat down to a table covered by a cloth of such fine linen, and he had certainly never been waited upon, of late years, by a man-servant. His little eyes roved inquisitively around. "You come from London, sir, my niece tells me," he remarked.
"From London," Deane replied.
"A wonderful place!" Mr. Sarsby said, with a sigh. "Since I retired, unfortunately, I have had to drop out of life altogether."