“Be quiet, Biddy!” Scott’s voice made calm, undaunted answer.  “You can go if you like.  I’ve come to sit with Miss Isabel for a while.  And I’ve brought her a visitor.  Isabel, my dear, I’ve brought you a visitor.”

Dinah moved forward in response to his gentle insistence, but her shyness went with her.  She was aware of something intangible in the atmosphere that startled, that almost frightened, her.

The gaunt figure of a woman clad in a long, white robe sat at a table in the middle of the room with a sheaf of letters littered before her.  Her emaciated arms were flung wide over them, her white head was bowed.

But at Scott’s quiet announcement, it was raised with the suddenness of eager expectancy.  For the fraction of a second Dinah saw dark, sunken eyes ablaze with a hope that was almost terrible in its intensity.

It was gone on the instant.  They looked at her with a species of dull wonder.  “Are you a friend of Scott’s?  I am very pleased to meet you,” a hollow voice said.

A thin hand was extended to her, and as Dinah clasped it a sudden great pity surged through her, dispelling her doubt.  Something in her responded swiftly, even passionately, to the hunger of those eyes.  The moment’s shock passed from her like a cloud.

“My sister Mrs. Everard,” said Scott’s voice at her shoulder.  “Isabel, this is Miss Bathurst of whom I was telling you.”

“You lent me your jewels,” said Dinah, looking into the wasted face with a sympathy at her heart that was almost too poignant to be borne.  “Thank you so very, very much for them!  It was so very kind of you to lend them to a total stranger like me.”

The strange eyes were gazing at her with a curious, growing interest.  A faint, faint smile was in their depths.  “Are we strangers, child?” the low voice asked.  “I feel as if we had met before.  Why do you look at me so kindly?  Most people only stare.”

Dinah was suddenly conscious of a hot sensation at the throat that made her want to cry.  “It is you who have been kind,” she said, and her little hand closed with confidence upon the limp, cold fingers.  “I am wearing your things still, and I have had such a lovely time.  Thank you again for letting me have them.  I am going to return them now.”

“You need not do that.”  Isabel spoke with her eyes still fixed upon the girlish face.  “Keep them if you like them!  I shall never wear them again.  They tell me—­they tell me—­I am a widow.”

“Miss Isabel darlint!” Biddy spoke sibilantly from the background.  “Don’t be talking to the young lady of such things!  Won’t ye sit down then, miss?  And maybe I can get ye a cup o’ tay.”

“Ah, do, Biddy!” Scott put in his quiet word.  “There is no tea like yours.  Isabel, Miss Bathurst is a keen dancer.  She and Eustace have been most energetic.  It was a pity you couldn’t come down and see the fun.”

“Oh!  Did you enjoy it?” Isabel still looked into the brown, piquant face as though loth to turn her eyes away.