"I'm a widow, sir; my husband was killed in the War.
I'm only caretaking here. When the house up there is sold, they'll turn
me out."
"I'm looking for a country house. Perhaps I'll come over and see it one
day. Is it an old house?"
"Well," she said vaguely, "it isn't a new house, sir. It's a mighty fine
place, and they do say it's going dirt cheap." And then she added slowly,
"There's a map hanging in the kitchen. It was hanging up yonder in the
servants' hall but I brought it down here, as so many people asks the
way."
It was an old-fashioned country road map, and Radmore, bending down, saw
in a moment where he was, and the best way home; and then feeling in a
queer kind of mood, a mood in which a man may do a strange and unexpected
thing, he took out of his pocket the L5 he had offered to Mr. Trotman.
"Look here," he said, "I'd like you just to take this and get your little
girl whatever you think necessary when she's on the mend. She'll want a
lot of care, eh?"
Twice the woman opened her mouth, and found she couldn't speak.
He held out his hand, and she squeezed it with her thin, work-worn
fingers. "I do hope God will bless you, sir!" she said.
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