“If the way she eats and drinks is anything to go by, she was never better in her life. But if you take her own account, she’s never well—a confirmed invalid she calls herself. I’ve no patience with the woman, though she is my sister. A day’s hard scrubbing at the wash-tub every week would do her a world of good. If she would only pack up her trunks and go, how thankful I should be!”
“If you wish her to shorten her visit at Pincote, I think you might easily persuade her to do so.”
“I’d give something to find out how. No, no, Bristow, you may depend that she’s a fixture here for three or four months to come. She knows—no woman alive better—when she’s in comfortable quarters.”
“If I had your sanction to do so, sir, I think that I could induce her to hasten her departure from Pincote.”
The Squire rubbed his nose thoughtfully.
“You are a queer fellow, Bristow,” he said, “and you have done some strange things, but to induce my sister to leave Pincote before she’s ready to go will cap all that you’ve done yet.”
“I cannot of course induce her to leave Pincote till she is willing to go, but after a little quiet talk with me, it is possible that she may be willing, and even anxious, to get away as quickly as possible.”
The Squire shook his head. “You don’t know Fanny McDermott as well as I do,” he said.
“Have I your permission to try the experiment?”
“You have—and my devoutest wishes for your success. Only you must not compromise me in any way in the matter.”