"Oh, forgive me! It's more than generous and good of you, but don't you see my pride or self-respect won't let me take it from you? Unless—unless—you would let me be your housekeeper in a business capacity and give me a salary. I really have become quite good at cooking and keeping house." "My dear child," said Thorold hastily, "I don't yet possess a house in Cornwall. I am living at the Rectory, and I have no housekeeper at present." "But you won't be always at the Rectory? "No. I am thinking of taking a small house a couple of miles out of the village, but I may not do that. It is all uncertain. I am waiting to see how the mine develops." "Well, what is to become of me?" said Gentian, the gloom returning to her face again. "I think I shall go back to Italy and try to earn a living there. Nobody wants me, or cares for me in this grey old England, and I have sunshine in Italy. I expect you'll say I must leave this little Vicarage, where I have been so happy. I shall have to earn my living in some way." "Have you seen or heard anything of the Miss Buchans?" "They wrote their sympathy and asked me to come over and see them. Miss Horatia called one day, but I was crying my eyes out and I wouldn't see her. I'm not ready to see people yet. I'm not controlled enough; at least, it's a strain to be so. I was at Mrs. Wharnecliffe's for a few days, and was quite glad to get back here again, where I can cry in peace, and go without my meals if I choose!" "Well, I must tell you that Miss Anne Buchan told Mrs. Wharnecliffe yesterday that she would very much like you to go to her altogether as a companion as well as a chauffeur. She is one person who is fond of you. You like her, do you not? You would have a comfortable home with them." Gentian looked at him with grave eyes. "So dull, so commonplace," she murmured. "I know you will fix up some dreary groove for me. And I warn you I shall not stay in it—I suppose I ought not to care. I ought to be grateful for a roof over my head, and food to eat, and fires to warm me. I know what your winters are like, and of course it is good to be sheltered; I suppose it won't matter where I am or what I do, for I shall be too miserable to care. And I've lost my faith in God, that's the worst of all." "That would be the worst fate of all, if you had," said Thorold gravely. "But you're in a fog at present and don't realize that the sun is the other side and will soon shine through." "Now, let us leave my fate, and future alone for a bit, and you talk to me about my soul," said Gentian, crossing her hands in her lap like a little child, and looking up at him with wistful expectancy. "I know you're a good man from things you've said to me, but you bottle it all up inside and won't let yourself go. Be like Sir Gilbert. He talks to me like an angel. He is not like a stiff, reserved Englishman." "Is that what you find me?"