She withdrew her arm from about him, and stood for a moment irresolute.
"Well—I shall be very miserable if you do go,"—she said—"And I'm sure no one will take more care of you than I will!"
"I'm sure of that, too, Mary!" and a smile that was almost youthful in its tenderness brightened his worn features—"I've never been so well taken care of in all my life before! Mr. Reay thinks I am a very lucky old fellow."
"Mr. Reay!" She echoed the name—and then, stooping abruptly towards the fire, began to make it up afresh. Helmsley watched her intently.
"Don't you like Mr. Reay?" he asked.
She turned a smiling face round upon him.
"Why, of course I like him!" she answered—"I think everyone in Weircombe likes him."
"I wonder if he'll ever marry?" pursued Helmsley, with a meditative air.
"Ah, I wonder! I hope if he does, he'll find some dear sweet little girl who will really love him and be proud of him! For he's going to be a great man, David!—a great and famous man some day!"
"You think so?"