‘This is an unexpected pleasure, Madge,’ he said. ‘I did not think you would drive to-day.’
‘I wanted to show Mr. Clissold your new plantation, Churchill.’
They all alighted, and Churchill showed them his newly planted groves, the graceful feathery Norwegian saplings, a ship-load of them brought from Norway for his special benefit, rhododendrons planted in between, and here and there a mountain ash or a copper beech to give colour and variety.
While they were walking in the plantation, Maurice and Churchill side by side, the former seized the opportunity of speaking of the gipsy woman whose presence at Penwyn Manor was a perplexity to him. It might possibly be an impertinence on his part to call in question Mr. Penwyn’s domestic arrangements, but Maurice felt that there were circumstances in this case which fully justified a breach of manners.
‘Do you know that I have made a curious discovery about a person in your employment, Mr. Penwyn?’ he began.
‘Indeed, and pray who and what is the person?’ asked Churchill, with the slightest possible change of manner, from cordiality to reserve.
‘Your lodgekeeper,’ replied Maurice; and then he proceeded to relate the circumstances of his first meeting with Rebecca Mason.
Mr. Penwyn received the information with supreme indifference.
‘Curious,’ he said, carelessly, ‘but I have long since discovered that life is made up of curious coincidences, and I have lost the faculty of astonishment. Multitudinous as the inhabitants of this globe are, we seem to be perpetually moving in circles, and knocking our heads against some one or other connected with our past lives. If I had wronged a man in Otaheite twenty years ago, it would not in the least surprise me to meet him at Seacomb Corn Exchange to-morrow. With regard to the woman Mason, I found her in circumstances of extreme distress, and offered her a home. It was one of those rare occasions on which I have indulged in the luxury of doing good,’ with an ironical laugh. ‘I knew, when I did this, that Rebecca had gipsy blood in her veins, and had led a roving life. But I had reason to believe her an honest woman then, and I have never found any cause for thinking her otherwise since. And this being so, I have made up my mind to keep her, in spite of the vulgar prejudice against her tawny skin—in spite even of my wife’s dislike.’
‘You are not alarmed by the idea of her relationship to a burglar?’