“I came to offer you my very warm sympathy with the grief you have so lately experienced.”
“My grief? I’m afraid I must be very dull; but I really do not understand.”
Already she felt at a disadvantage, and hesitated.
“I mean about the old man who died so suddenly—your old . . . retainer.”
Caswall’s face relaxed something of its puzzled concentration.
“Oh, he was only a servant; and he had over-stayed his three-score and ten years by something like twenty years. He must have been ninety!”
“Still, as an old servant . . . ”
Caswall’s words were not so cold as their inflection.
“I never interfere4 with servants. He was kept on here merely because he had been so long on the premises5. I suppose the steward6 thought it might make him unpopular if the old fellow had been dismissed.”
How on earth was she to proceed on such a task as hers if this was the utmost geniality7 she could expect? So she at once tried another tack—this time a personal one.
“I am sorry I disturbed you. I am really not unconventional—though certainly no slave to convention. Still there are limits . . . it is bad enough to intrude8 in this way, and I do not know what you can say or think of the time selected, for the intrusion.”
After all, Edgar Caswall was a gentleman by custom and habit, so he rose to the occasion.
“I can only say, Lady Arabella, that you are always welcome at any time you may deign9 to honour my house with your presence.”
She smiled at him sweetly.
“Thank you so much. You do put one at ease. My breach10 of convention makes me glad rather than sorry. I feel that I can open my heart to you about anything.”
Forthwith she proceeded to tell him about Oolanga and his strange suspicions of her honesty. Caswall laughed and made her explain all the details. His final comment was enlightening.
“Let me give you a word of advice: If you have the slightest fault to find with that infernal nigger, shoot him at sight. A swelled-headed nigger, with a bee in his bonnet11, is one of the worst difficulties in the world to deal with. So better make a clean job of it, and wipe him out at once!”
“But what about the law, Mr. Caswall?”
“Oh, the law doesn’t concern itself much about dead niggers. A few more or less do not matter. To my mind it’s rather a relief!”
“I’m afraid of you,” was her only comment, made with a sweet smile and in a soft voice.
“All right,” he said, “let us leave it at that. Anyhow, we shall be rid of one of them!”
“I don’t love niggers any more than you do,” she replied, “and I suppose one mustn’t be too particular where that sort of cleaning up is concerned.” Then she changed in voice and manner, and asked genially12: “And now tell me, am I forgiven?”
“You are, dear lady—if there is anything to forgive.”
As he spoke13, seeing that she had moved to go, he came to the door with her, and in the most natural way accompanied her downstairs. He passed through the hall with her and down the avenue. As he went back to the house, she smiled to herself.
“Well, that is all right. I don’t think the morning has been altogether thrown away.”
And she walked slowly back to Diana’s Grove14.
Adam Salton followed the line of the Brow, and refreshed his memory as to the various localities. He got home to Lesser
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