"Yes, yes," he says, tamely.
His face is devoid of expression. His movements are uncertain. He adds, jabbing his fork into a soft spot in the ground near the hedge:
"Especially as I cannot get along without anybody."
I insist upon Rose's domestic virtues.
"You will not easily replace her, Captain."
Decidedly, he is not touched at all. One would say even, from looking at his eyes that have suddenly become brighter and from watching his movements, now more alert, that he has been relieved from a great weight.
"Bah!" says he, after a short silence, "everything can be replaced."
This resignation astonishes me, and even scandalizes me a little. To amuse myself, I try to make him understand all he has lost in losing Rose.
"She knew so well your habits, your tastes, your manias! She was so devoted to you!"
"Well, if she had not been, that would have been the last straw," he growled.