to me once, when I am afraid I didn’t show that I thought so.’
‘Was I though?’ returned the old man.
‘I’m glad to hear it, but I don’t remember when. Are you sure it was me?’
‘Quite.’
‘I think my memory has got as short as my breath,’ said Mr. Omer, looking at me and shaking his head; ‘for I don’t remember you.’
‘Don’t you remember your coming to the coach to meet me, and my having breakfast here, and our riding out to Blunderstone together: you, and I, and Mrs. Joram, and Mr. Joram too — who wasn’t her husband then?’
‘Why, Lord bless my soul!’