"No--quite young."
"But I thought you said they didn't marry until she was forty."
"Yes--that is so. He couldn't marry her till then. They were both Catholics, you see. Eighteen years went by before they married."
She made patterns on a bare piece of ground with the ferrule of her umbrella, as she listened. When he came to this point of the story, she carved the figure one and eight in the mould.
"Yes," said John, looking at them--"it was a long time to wait--wasn't it?"
She nodded her head and slowly scratched the figures out.
"So the secret papers were sent to your father?" she said.
"Yes."
She communed with herself for a few moments. She was very curious to know the secret of those papers; just as curious as that other mariner had been. But when you get beyond a certain age, they tell you it is rude to be curious--more's the pity! It takes away half the pleasure from life. She wanted so much to know. The mystery that surrounded John Grey in Fetter Lane was clinging to him here in Kensington Gardens. She felt just as curious about him as did Mrs. Meakin, and Mrs. Rowse; and Mrs. Morrell, and, like them, she was afraid to show it to him.
Presently she left off scratching her patterns in the mould and raised her head, looking out wistfully across the pond.