“Geoffrey? Yes, he's a charming fellow, and he's been a rattling good soldier—got his D.S.O. in the South African campaign. But he and his wife—she was a Miss Eden—were stationed in India so many years, I rather lost touch with them. They came home when the Durward property fell in to them—about seven or eight years ago. She, I think”—reminiscently—“was one of the most beautiful women I've ever seen.”
The shadow in Sara's eyes lifted for a moment.
“Is that the reason you've always remained a bachelor?” she asked, twinkling.
“God bless my soul, no! I never wanted to marry Elisabeth Eden—though there were plenty of men who did.” He regarded Sara with an odd smile. “Some day, you'll know—why I never wanted to marry Elisabeth.”
“Tell me now.”
He shook his head.
“No. You'll know soon enough—soon enough.”
He was silent, fallen a-dreaming once again; and again he seemed to pull himself up short, forcing himself back to the consideration of the practical needs of the moment.
“As I was saying, Sara, sooner or later you'll have to turn out of the old Court. It's entailed, and the income with it. But I've a clear four hundred a year, altogether apart from the Barrow moneys, and that, at my death, will be yours.”
“I don't want to hear about it!” burst out Sara passionately. “It's hateful even talking of such things.”