"The house is like an iceberg," he said in a grumbling and complaining tone, "quite enough to give one cold."
"It's cheerless and dull, and cold enough, sir, without any one, but just only a man," said Jean. "It's not much comfort to a man being alone."
"Have you heard from Mrs. Dorriman?" he asked.
"Oh, certainly, sir, she writes whiles to me."
"I have a letter, I suppose she is well?"
"She does not complain of ill health; not that Mrs. Dorriman's given to complaining," said Jean; "she'll put up with a great deal, will Mrs. Dorriman, sooner than speak a word."
Did she mean anything by this? Mr. Sandford glanced keenly at her, and thought it best to say nothing.
"What time do you wish to eat your dinner, sir?" inquired Jean.
"Oh! any time after seven," he answered, and there was a certain weariness in his tone that struck her.
She said no more, but looked at the fire, now blazing, and went back to her domain.