“You seem to prefer the evening services? Ah well, I dare say they fit in better with your work.” Silas made no reply, but sat smiling to himself. Mr. Medhurst started another topic, “What pretty flowers you have always in here, Dene.”
“Yes, sir, my sister-in-law does that.”
“She must be a great comfort to you, Dene, since ... well, since you have been by yourself ... you know....”
“Since my wife was killed, sir.”
“Well ... yes; yes, after all, that is what I meant. I should like to say, Dene, that I admire extremely the courage you have displayed under your sorrow; I think I may claim that I am not unobservant—although, God knows, sorely wanting in other qualities, I add in all humility. I will confess that your conduct at the inquest impressed me most painfully, but we need not dwell upon that; since then I have had nothing but praise for your demeanour.”
“Indeed, sir?”
“Yes, indeed. I was saying so to Sir Robert Malleson only the other day. It gives me great pleasure to say so to you now. You are a brave man, Dene.” He pronounced the words “brave man” separately and with emphasis, and allowed a suitable emotion to rise through his tone.
“Thank you, sir.”
“Not at all, Dene, not at all. It is only your due.”
“Well, sir, perhaps we all have liftings towards honour,” said Silas demurely.