'Tell me, father, do you like Lord Chadwick?' The Major's face changed expression. 'Have I said anything to wound you?' she said, pressing his hand.
'No, dear. You asked me if I liked Lord Chadwick. I was thinking. Somehow it seems to me that I rather like him, though I have no reason to do so. He thinks me crazy, but so do others; I know that my conversation bores him, he always tries to get away from me, yet somehow it seems to me that I do like him.'
'Is he a fast man, father, is he like Lord Chiselhurst?'
'He is much the same as the other men that come here. I don't think he's a bad man—no worse than other men. Is he kind to you, dear; tell me that; do you like him?'
'Yes, father; he and Mr. St. Clare are the men I like best here. But why is he here so much, father, he's no relation.'
'He has dined and lunched here every day for the last ten years. He's been an expense too.'
'Mother said he is so poor that she has often to lend him money.'
'He should have spent some of the money she lent him, on a type- writing machine, and striven as I do to make an independence. When I've got together a little independence, when I can pay for my meals and my clothes, you shall see; none that you dislike shall ever come here, dearest. I'll put my house in order.'
'But that will take a long time, father; in the meantime——'
'What, dear?'