"
"And all that time," he asked, "has there been no one living at
Tredowen?"
"No one except Mrs. Tresfarwin," she answered. "It belongs to a very
rich man who is in prison."
Wingrave's face was immovable. He stood on one side, however, and
turned towards his companion.
"We are keeping this young lady," he remarked, "from what seems to be
her daily pilgrimage. I wonder whether it is really the pictures, or
Mrs. Tresfarwin's cakes?"
She turned her shoulder upon him in silent scorn, and looked at
Aynesworth a little wistfully.
"Goodbye!" she said.
He waved his hand as he strolled after Wingrave.
"There you are, Mr. Lord of the Manor," he said. "You can't refuse to
do something for the child. Her father was organist at your own
church, and a hard struggle he must have had of it, with an absentee
landlord, and a congregation of seagulls, I should think."
"Are you joking?" Wingrave asked coldly.
"I was never more in earnest in my life," Aynesworth answered. "The
girl is come from gentlefolks. Did you see what a delicate face she
had, and how nicely she spoke? You wouldn't have her sent out as a
servant, would you?"
Wingrave looked at his companion ominously.
"You have a strange idea of the duties of a landlord," he remarked.
"Do you seriously suppose that I am responsible for the future of
every brat who grows up on this estate?"
"Of course not!" Aynesworth answered.
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