“Mrs. Tresfarwin,” the child said. “It is not really difficult. But she had no right to send you through here! It is all private, you know!”
“And you?” Aynesworth asked with a smile, “you have permission, I suppose?”
“Yes,” she answered. “I have lived here all my life. I go where I please. Have you seen the pictures?”
“We have just been looking at them,” Aynesworth answered.
“Aren’t they beautiful?” she exclaimed. “I—oh!”
She sat suddenly down on a rough wooden seat and commenced to cry. For the first time Wingrave looked at her with some apparent interest.
“Why, what is the matter with you, child?” Aynesworth exclaimed.
“I have loved them so all my life,” she sobbed; “the pictures, and the house, and the gardens, and now I have to go away! I don’t know where! Nobody seems to know!”
Aynesworth looked down at her black frock.
“You have lost someone, perhaps?” he said.