“My father was a captain,” she said. “He was drowned when I was a baby; and my brother was drowned in the war. So—you see—”
“Yes,” he answered gravely. “I see!”
He did not try to express sympathy, he did not speak one reassuring or consolatory word. He stood silently beside her, neither seeking nor evading her attention, simply being his own uncompromising self. Never in life had he tried, never in life would he try, to make a favorable impression upon any one. He took it for granted that she knew all the compassion, interest, and respect he felt; and she, on her part, accepted him without question.
“Do you think we’ll be kept here long like this?” she asked.
“It’s impossible to say; but there’s nothing to be alarmed about.”
“I’m late,” she said anxiously. “You see, I’ve come all the way from Philadelphia this morning, and I got a little mixed up. I was expected for lunch, but it’s much too late now.”
“Won’t the people—your friends—wait?” asked Robert indignantly.
“They’re strangers,” she said. “I’ve never seen them. I’m going as a governess. I was recommended to Mrs. Wigmore—”
“Mrs. Wigmore!”
“Oh, do you know her?” the girl asked.