"If you mean was he gay, was he witty—yes. But sometimes I thought—Mr. Carstares, when he was silent, his eyes were so sad—! Indeed, I do not know why I tell you this."
"You may be sure, madam, your confidence is safe with me. I had—a great regard for this gentleman." He opened and shut her fan as he spoke, fidgeting with the slender sticks. "You, too, were interested in him, madam?"
"I do not think ever anyone knew him and was not, sir. It was something in his manner, his personality—I cannot explain—that endeared him to one. And he once—aided me—when I was in difficulties."
Richard, remembering scraps of gossip concerning the widow's past, merely bowed his head.
She was silent for a time, staring down at her hands, but presently she looked up smiling, and took her fan away from him.
"I cannot abide a fidget, sir!" she told him. "And I see Lord Fotheringham approaching. I am promised to him this dance." She rose, but Richard detained her.
"Mrs. Fanshawe, will you permit me to call upon you? I would hear more of—your friend. You, mayhap, think it strange—but—"
"No," she answered. "I do not. Certainly call upon me, sir. I lodge in Mount Street with my sister—No. 16."
"I protest, madam, you are too good—"
"Again, no. I have told you, I like a man to talk as a man and not as an affected woman. I shall be pleased to welcome you."