"Has anyone called, Dixon?"
"No; we need not look out for visitors in this weather."
Dixon was a privileged person; she had been in command at Anselm Manor long before Warren Courtly's mother died, and Irene declined to have her removed, although her husband would have been pleased to see the back of her.
Martha Dixon had a strong affection for Irene, although she would not abate a jot of her sternness or abrupt manner under any consideration. She also knew that Warren Courtly had been anything but a saint before he married, but that was none of her business.
"I suppose this is a gentle hint that I ought not to be riding about this weather?" said Irene, smiling.
Martha Dixon smiled back at her mistress and said, in a soft tone—
"If you take care of yourself it will do you no harm, and I know it's precious lonely at the Manor. How did you find the Squire?"
"He looks wonderfully well, but it was a bad night for him last night."
"Then he remembers; he has forgotten nothing?"
"And never will. He thinks Ulick will come back on the anniversary of the night he left home, and he has steeled himself to wait another year," said Irene.