A gentle smile came to the lips of Lord Stranleigh; a smile so winning that it would have disarmed the rancour of a socialist.
"Why, Sally, I recollect you perfectly. You married and came to London. That must have been—how long since?"
"Fifteen years come Michaelmas Day, my lord."
"Is it so long ago as that? How time does fly! But I cannot go on calling a dignified matron 'Sally,' and I'm not sure that I ever knew the name of him you married."
"John Bendale, my lord, and as good a man as there was in all England. He was a clerk in a cutlery shop on the Edgware Road at the time I became acquainted with him. He had come to Stranleigh village for his holidays one summer, and we were married as soon as he got a shop of his own, and I never regretted it, never for a single moment," she continued with almost passionate vehemence, as if the reputation of her husband had been attacked. "He always was good to me, and never has spoken anything but kind words."
Lord Stranleigh seemed embarrassed: the smile faded from his lips. He noticed now for the first time the worn black bonnet and gown, and conjectured that the husband was dead, yet feared to ask.
"I am glad to hear you have experienced a
