"Oh, afterwards she came up to London," replied Gartney, after a pause; "the old man had got rid of all the property, and even the Hall was so heavily mortgaged that it had to be sold. She stayed with some relatives, and there was some talk of her becoming a Sister of Mercy. I dare say she would have done so, her vocation evidently being in the Florence Nightingale line, had she not met with my cousin Errington, who fell in love with her, and three months ago married her."
"Curious history," commented Angus idly. "I don't wonder she looks older than she is, after coming through all that misery, but I hope she doesn't make her past life a text upon which to prose about religion."
"No, I don't think she does. I have been told she is somewhat serious, but a charming woman to talk to."
"Not the sort of woman likely to be attracted by a sporting blade like Errington."
Gartney held his peace at this remark and looked thoughtfully at his cigarette.
"Does she love him?" asked the Master, noticing the silence of his companion.
"Does she love him?" replied Gartney, meditatively. "I hardly know. Guy isn't a bad sort of fellow as men go, he's a straightforward, athletic, stupid young Englishman."
"Married to a saint."
"Oh, I assure you he admires and loves the saint immensely, judging from his enthusiastic letters to me about her perfections. She is fair to look on, she is a thoroughly pure, good woman, and will, without doubt, make an excellent mother. What more can a man desire?
"I'm afraid you'd desire a good deal more."