Annie looked puzzled. There were several moments of silence, warm and comforting and, to Francis, very sweet. Serge laughed.
“After this,” he said, “we may expect to hear that Mrs. Entwistle has been caught up into Heaven. As a matter of fact she lives there all the time, because, though you wouldn’t think it to look at her, she is a sort of a fairy.”
“I should like to be back before dark,” said Francis.
“Three minutes,” answered Serge, “and I’ll go with you.” He turned to Annie. “I’ve found work for you as soon as you’re ready. A friend of mine has a farm six miles away. He lives with his sister and he wants an assistant housekeeper.”
Annie had never taken her eyes from him since he had come into the room. Her eyes now filled with tears, and her hands made a touching little gesture, almost imperceptible, of gratitude towards him. Serge went on:
“He’s not a rich man, but he’ll pay you enough, so that you can feel independent and always be putting by a little.”
Annie found her voice but she remained inarticulate. Francis was curiously relieved when Serge rose to go. He held out his hand to her. She took it in both hers and said:
“I know. I must have made you very unhappy. You have been very good to me.”
“Not at all. Not at all,” said Francis huskily. She turned to Serge:
“You’ll come again? It won’t be long now.”