“Since he went to Egypt?”
“Nay, since thee—”
“Since I went to Mass?” he grumbled humorously.
She laughed whimsically. “Nay, then, since thee made the promise—”
“That I would drink no more till his return—ay, that was my bargain; till then and no longer! I am not to be held back then, unless I change my mind when I see him. Well, ‘tis three years since—”
“Three years! Time hasn’t flown. Is it not like an old memory, his living here in this house, Soolsby, and all that happened then?”
Soolsby looked at her over his glasses, resting his chin on the back of the chair he was caning, and his lips worked in and out with a suppressed smile.
“Time’s got naught to do with you. He’s afeard of you,” he continued. “He lets you be.”
“Friend, thee knows I am almost an old woman now.” She made marks abstractedly upon the corner of a piece of paper. “Unless my hair turns grey presently I must bleach it, for ‘twill seem improper it should remain so brown.”
She smoothed it back with her hand. Try as she would to keep it trim after the manner of her people, it still waved loosely on her forehead and over her ears. And the grey bonnet she wore but added piquancy to its luxuriance, gave a sweet gravity to the demure beauty of the face it sheltered.