"
"She did mention her art once or twice," said the Major. "Now that you
remind me of it, I distinctly recollect her saying that it was the
great thing in her life."
"There you are then. Perhaps now you'll believe me for the future, and
not be starting miserable, sceptical objections to every word I say.
What did you say when she talked to you about her art? Did you
cross-question her about what it was?"
"No, I didn't. I wasn't thinking of your absurd theories when I was
talking to her. I thought she meant painting, or something of that
sort. I felt sorry for her, J. J. She seems to me to have a very
lonely kind of life."
"Of course she does--in the intervals."
"What?"
"There are intervals, of course. Miss King isn't the sort of woman to
form an intimacy with another man until she is really a widow. It's
quite natural that she should feel lonely just now, for instance. The
mere absence of the excitement she's been accustomed to for so long
would have a depressing effect on her."
CHAPTER XI.
Meldon was a man who liked to get the full possible measure of
enjoyment out of his holidays. He counted the hours of daylight which
he spent in bed as wasted, and although always late for breakfast, was
generally up and active before any other member of the Major's
household.
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