"Of course, of course," said Francis. "It is very important for you to be well, but you must not imagine . . ."
"I couldn't take money from you, sir, if you thought me wicked. I have been wicked, but I'm not wicked any longer. I couldn't do--what I did, ever again. I couldn't be so silly . . ."
Francis thought to himself: "I must make her appreciate the peril through which her soul has passed. . . . She seems to be leaving her soul out of consideration altogether. I must make her see that she has a soul and can only find true happiness in its salvation through . . ." Once more he drew back from the contemplation of difficulties which he felt were too intricate for him. He said:
"My dear, be sure I think no ill of you. I only desired, my only thought was . . . is . . . has been to secure you as far as possible from the temporal consequences of your--er--betrayal." He breathed heavily. Then he fell back on his natural candour and added: "I came meaning to say a great deal, but I find that I have nothing to say. I find it quite impossible to take a professional view of your situation. You must forgive me. I cannot help feeling that I have been guilty of an impertinence."
Annie still hung her head and plucked at her fingers. She looked at the clock and said:
"Mr. Serge ought to be here now, sir. He's generally here before this. There aren't many gentlemen like Mr. Serge, are there, sir?"
"I hardly know," replied Francis. "I hardly know, but my experience of the world has been very limited. . . . Do you tend the garden yourself?"
"Yes, sir. I help Mrs. Entwistle. I've learned such a lot about the garden since I've been here."
"I had a garden, once, in my old living." He described the garden at St. Withans, and the exercise of visualising the lawns and borders and the orchard under the church-tower and waking the faint echo of his old joy in it won him back to greater confidence. He talked of flowers and bees and birds until there came a knock at the door, when, with joyful alacrity, Annie hurried to open it. Serge came in with paint-box and sketch-book strapped together and slung over his shoulder. He nodded to his father and sat down by the table. Annie brewed him fresh tea and he said: