Here he flourished the handkerchief again and raised the boot-button eyes to Mrs. Fiander’s face.
‘I am, of course, grateful for any tribute of respect to my dear husband,’ she said.
‘Yes,’ resumed Mr. Burge, ‘I thought you’d look on it in that light; but I should have thought it a privilege to drive you, Mrs. Fiander.’
Rosalie made some inarticulate rejoinder.
‘I thought I’d just call round and explain my motives,’ he went on, ‘and also take the opportunity of offering in person my best condoliences.’
‘Thank you,’ said Rosalie.
‘I may speak, I think,’ remarked Andrew pompously, ‘in the name of the whole borough of Branston. There was, I might say, but one mournful murmur when the noos of his death came to town. But one mournful murmur, I do assure ’ee, Mrs. Fiander.’
Rosalie looked up gratefully; the young man certainly meant well and this information was gratifying. She felt a little thrill of melancholy pleasure at the thought of the universal esteem and respect in which her poor Elias had been held. But meeting the hard expressionless gaze of Mr. Burge’s tight little eyes, the appreciative compliment died upon her lips.
‘So now,’ resumed the visitor, diving for his hat and carefully tucking away the handkerchief in its lining—‘now, Mrs. Fiander, having spoken for myself and for my fellow-townsmen, and having assured myself that you are no worse in health than might have been expected under these extraneous circumstances, I will withdraw.’
He rose, ducked his head, extended his hand, and solemnly pumped Rosalie’s up and down for about two minutes; finally backing to the door.