I inclined my head once more.  The man stood at my side, staring at the ground and fidgeting, and biting his finger-nail in that disagreeable way he has.  Then he said, ‘Lady Pinkerton, Jane’s unhappy.’

The impertinence of the man!  Who was he to tell me that of my own daughter, a widow of a few weeks?

‘Naturally,’ I replied very coolly.  ’It would be strange indeed if she were not.’

‘Oh, well—­’ he made a queer, jerking movement.

’You’ll say it’s not my business.  But please don’t ... er ... let people worry her—­get on her nerves.  It does rather, you know.  And—­and she’s not fit.’

‘I’m afraid,’ I said, putting up my lorgnette, ’I do not altogether understand you, Mr. Gideon.  I am naturally acquainted with my daughter’s state better than any one else can be.’

‘It gets on her nerves,’ he muttered again.  Then, after a moment of silent hesitation, he half shrugged his shoulders, mumbled, ‘Oh, well,’ and jerked away.

A strange person!  Amazingly rude and ill-bred.  To take upon himself to warn me to take care of my own child!  And what did he mean ’got on her nerves?’ I really began to think he must be a little mad.  But one thing was apparent; his feeling towards Jane was, as I had long suspected, much warmer than was right in the circumstances.  He had, I made no doubt, come from her just now.

I found Jane silent and unresponsive.  She was not writing when I came in, but sitting doing nothing.  She said nothing to me about Mr. Gideon’s call, till I mentioned him myself.  Then she seemed to stiffen a little; I saw her hands clench over the arms of her chair.

‘His manner was very strange,’ I said.  ’I couldn’t help wondering if he had been having anything.’

‘If he was drunk, you mean,’ said Jane.  ‘I dare say.’

‘Then he does!’ I cried, a little surprised.

Jane said not that she knew of.  But every one did sometimes.  Which was just the disagreeable, cynical way of talking that I regret in her and Johnny.  As if she did not know numbers of straight, clean-living, decent men and women who never had too much in their lives.  But, anyhow, it convinced me that Mr. Gideon did drink too much, and that she knew it.

‘He had been here, I suppose,’ I said gently, because I didn’t want to seem stern.

‘Yes,’ said Jane, and that was all.

‘My dear,’ I said, after a moment, laying my hand on hers, ’is this man worrying you ... with attentions?’

Jane laughed, an odd, hard laugh that I didn’t like.

‘Oh, no,’ she said.  ‘Oh, dear no, mother.’

She got up and began to walk about the room.

‘Never mind Arthur,’ she said.  ’I wouldn’t let him get on my mind if I were you, mother....  Let’s talk about something else—­baby, if you like.’

I perceived from this that Jane was really anxious to avoid discussion of this man, for she did not as a rule encourage me to talk to her about the little life which was coming, as we hoped, next spring.  So I turned from the subject of Arthur Gideon.  But it remained on my mind.