She repeated the words slowly, regarding him fixedly, because she wondered if they would have any effect upon him.
“She died and he went away, nobody knows where. What does it mean?”
“I don’t know,” he admitted, staring at her with his handsome, long-lashed eyes. “Lots of people die and go away.” Then, after a pause, in which he dropped his eyes, he added:
“My mother died two years ago.”
“Did she?” answered Sheba, wondering why he looked so gloomy again all at once. “I don’t think I ever had any mother, but I have Uncle Tom.”
He stared at her again, and there was silence for a few minutes. This he broke by asking a question.
“What is your name?” he demanded.
“De Willoughby,” she replied, “but I’m called Sheba.”
“Why, that’s my name,” he said, surprisedly. “My name is De Willoughby. I—Hallo, Neb——”
This last in a tone of proprietorship to a negro servant, who was advancing towards them from a side-door and who hurried up with rather a frightened manner.