Stargarde laughed, then her face became grave. “He is a poor old soldier who boasts continually that his father was a gentleman, though he himself has sadly fallen from that estate.”
“And is he one of your protégés?”
“Yes; he lives over the washhouse,” said Stargarde with a motion of her hand in the direction of a near brick building. “I sent him to town with a note. I fear that he has gotten into trouble.”
“Does he drink?”
“At times he does. He meets old companions who tempt him to do so. I feel a responsibility about him, for he used to be Colonel Armour’s night-watchman at the warehouse. He was dismissed for some cause or other many years ago, and he never ceases to mourn over it.”
Vivienne wondered why Stargarde should feel any responsibility for Colonel Armour’s actions, but dismissed the thought from her mind on reflecting that to Stargarde all men were brothers.
She put her hand through Stargarde’s arm and pressed it gently as they walked up and down the path. “Do not worry about him. He will return. Think what a glorious day this is.”
“Ah, yes,” said Stargarde, turning her face up toward the deep blue of the sky. “It is a pleasure to live.”
“I love this clear frosty weather,” said Vivienne; “it is so much more agreeable than the wind,” and she shrugged her shoulders inside her warm jacket. “And you, dear Stargarde, are you sufficiently clad in that short cloak?”
“Do I not look comfortable?” asked Stargarde mischievously.