The lady of Thorpe laughed softly to herself.
“You, too, then, Mr. Hurd,” she said, “you are content with your life? You don’t mind my being personal, do you? It is such a change down here, such a different existence ... and I like to understand everything.”
Upon Mr. Hurd the almost pathetic significance of those last words was wholly wasted. They were words of a language which he could not comprehend. He realized only their direct application—and the woman to him seemed like a child.
“If I were not content, madam,” he said, “I should deserve to lose my place. I should deserve to lose it,” he added after a moment’s pause, “notwithstanding the fact that I have done my duty faithfully for four and forty years.”
She smiled upon him brilliantly. They were so far apart that she feared lest she might have offended him.
“I have always felt myself a very fortunate woman, Mr. Hurd,” she said, “in having possessed your services.”
He rose as though about to go. It was her whim, however, to detain him.
“You lost your wife some years ago, did you not, Mr. Hurd?” she began tentatively. As a matter of fact, she was not sure of her ground.
“Seven years back, madam,” he answered, with immovable face. “She was, unfortunately, never a strong woman.”
“And your son?” she asked more confidently. “Is he back from South Africa?”