“Ben Godfrey....”
He repeated the name vaguely. Evidently it conveyed nothing to him. He was so much away that he heard little of the talk of the estate.
“Yes. The farmer of Fourhouses. Don’t you know him? I’ve known him three months, and we love each other. Father and Mother and Peter and everyone will be wild when they know. That’s why I want to have you on my side.”
“Jenny, dear....” He carefully deposited Henry Ford’s appendix on the shelf, wiped his oily fingers on a piece of rag, and came and sat beside her on the packing case where she had perched herself—“Jenny, dear, this is too exciting for words. Do tell me more about it.”
Jenny told him as much as she could—how meeting Ben Godfrey had set her mind on a new adventure and a new revolt—how she had resolved not to let her chance slip by, but had let him know she cared—how eager and sweet his response had been, and how happy life was now, with meeting and love-making. Her manner, her looks, her hesitations told him as much as her words.
“You will stand by me, won’t you, Gervase?”
“Of course I will, Jen. But do you mind if I ask you one or two questions?”
“Ask whatever you like. As you’re going to help me, you’ve a right to know.”
“Well, are you quite sure this is going to last?”
“My dear! I never thought you’d ask that.”