“I mean—doesn’t anybody think it strange?”
“That there should be a fire? No. It is always dangerous to use lamps. And Mr. Richard, poor young man, was evidently not to be trusted with one.”
Chris moved impatiently. But she only asked:
“Do they think he was burnt alive, then?”
Mrs. Abercarne hesitated. She wished with all her heart, poor dear lady, that she could honestly say “yes.” But truth (and the certainty that she would be found out if she told a falsehood) prevailed.
“It is impossible to say,” she answered, shortly. “But—but I believe they did not succeed in finding any traces of the body.”
“Ah!” said Chris, as if this had been just what she expected.
She asked no more questions, but sat for a long time looking thoughtfully out at the sea. At last her mother ventured to say:
“Mr. Bradfield wants to know, my darling, what flowers you would like best for him to send you. He is very anxious for the time to come when he may see you, though he does not wish to intrude too soon.”