“I like the name of Priscilla; it is so quaint and old-fashioned. Do you know that I once had a girl called Esther. She was my only child. That is a quaint name too, if you like. Don’t you think so? Don’t you think that Esther is a very pretty name?”
“Very,” said Priscilla. “It is a beautiful name,” she added; “and that story about Queen Esther is so, so lovely!”
“Isn’t it?” said Mr Manchuri. “And my girl was like her—a sort of queenly way about her. Do you know, miss—you don’t mind if I call you Priscilla?”
“Please do,” said Priscilla.
“Do you know that in a sort of manner you remind me of my dear Esther. She was darker than you; but she was like you. God took her. Shall I tell you why?”
“Please,” said Priscilla. She had come back to the present world now, and was gazing, with all her heart in her eyes, at the queer old man.
“She was too good for earth,” said Mr Manchuri; “that is why God took her. He wanted her to bloom in the Heavenly Gardens. She wasn’t a bit like me. I am all for money and bargains—I made a rare one to-day; but I mustn’t talk of that. That is a secret. I am a rich man—very rich; and when I die I will leave my money to different charities. I have not kith or kin to leave it to—neither kith nor kin, for Esther is with God and the angels. But, all the same, I can’t help making money. It is the one pleasure I have. If a week goes by when I can’t turn over a cool hundred or even sometimes a thousand I am put out and miserable. You don’t understand that feeling, do you?”
“No; I don’t,” said Priscilla.
“No more did Esther; I could not get it into her. I tried to with all my might, but not one little bit of it would get through that pure white armour she wore—the armour of righteousness, I take it.”
“Tell me more about her,” said Priscilla, bending forward and looking full into Mr Manchuri’s eyes.