“I don’t know exactly. He is a Hindoo, half-caste I imagine, or he wouldn’t work as a servant, and I found him in London. It was just before I married Percy. George had been working in one of the music halls as a magician and he was ill. I took care of him. His colour didn’t matter—he was in The Profession, in a way, you know, and when he got well he offered to work for me and he’s been with me ever since, about eleven years. I really couldn’t do without George, you know. Percy didn’t like him either.”
“Why doesn’t he go back into vaudeville? He could make more money.”
“Gratitude, I suppose—anyway, that wouldn’t make very much difference, and so long as I have any money at all, I shall keep George.”
“How do you know that he is really a Hindoo?” asked Ruth.
“He told me that when I first found him. You’re more curious about George than Percy was. Percy always said he looked like something come to life from a pyramid, but George never liked Percy and he won’t like you if you ask him questions.”
“I shan’t ask him questions.”
“I do wish you hadn’t met Percy—he keeps coming into my mind. Did he look well?”
“Very well indeed.”
“Happy?”
“That’s more difficult—you know I’d never seen him before, so it would be hard to tell. If you—why didn’t you let me tell him the truth; then probably you’d have seen for yourself.”