Hartley made no reply. He went out and walked' up and down the garden, inspecting it. The captain, who was no gardener, hoped that the expression of his face was due to his opinion of the flowers.
"You must miss Mrs. Chinnery," said Hartley, at last.
"No," said the captain, almost explosively; "not at all. Why should I?"
"It can't be so homelike without her," said Hartley, stooping to pull up a weed or two.
"Just the same," said the other, emphatically. "We have a woman in to do the work, and it doesn't make the slightest difference to me—not the slightest."
"How is Truefitt?" inquired Hartley.
The captain's face darkened. "Peter's all right," he said, slowly. "He's not treated me—quite well," he added, after a little hesitation.
"It's natural he should neglect you a bit, as things are," said his friend.
"Neglect?" said the captain, bitterly. "I wish he would neglect me. He's turning out a perfect busybody, and he's getting as artful as they make 'em. I never would have believed it of Peter. Never."
Hartley waited.