“Yes, please,” said Dinah.  “If you don’t mind.”

He began to walk on.  It was evident that the hill was something of a difficulty to him.  He moved slowly, and his limp became more pronounced.  “No, I should like to tell you about her,” he said.  “You were so good yesterday, and I hadn’t prepared you in the least.  I hope it didn’t give you a shock.”

“Of course it didn’t,” Dinah answered.  “I’m not such a donkey as that.  I was only very, very sorry.”

“Thank you,” he said, as if she had expressed direct sympathy with himself.  “It’s hard to believe, isn’t it, that seven years ago she was—­even lovelier than the beautiful Miss de Vigne, only in a very different style?”

“Not in the least,” Dinah assured him.  “She is far lovelier than Rose now.  She must have been—­beautiful.”

“She was,” said Scott.  “She was like Eustace, except that she was always much softer than he is.  You would scarcely believe either that she is three years younger than he is, would you?”

“I certainly shouldn’t,” Dinah admitted.  “But then, she must have come through years of suffering.”

“Yes,” Scott spoke with slight constraint, as though he could not bear to dwell on the subject.  “She was a girl of intensely vivid feelings, very passionate and warmhearted.  She and Eustace were inseparable in the old days.  They did everything together.  He thought more of her than of anyone else in the world.  He does still.”

“He wasn’t very nice to her last night,” Dinah ventured.

“No.  He is often like that, and she is afraid of him.  But the reason of it is that he feels her trouble so horribly, and whenever he sees her in that mood it hurts him intolerably.  He is quite a good chap underneath, Miss Bathurst.  Like Isabel, he feels certain things intensely.  Of course he is five years older than I am, and we have never been pals in the sense that he and she were pals.  I was always a slow-goer, and they went like the wind.  But I know him.  I know what his feelings are, and what this thing has been to him.  And though I am now much more to Isabel than he will probably ever be again, he has never resented it or been anything but generous and willing to give place to me.  That, you know, indicates greatness.  With all his faults, he is great.”

“He shouldn’t make her afraid of him,” Dinah said.

“I am afraid that is inevitable.  He is strong, and she has lost her strength.  Her marriage too alienated them in the first place.  She had refused so many before Basil Everard came along, and I suppose he had begun to think that she was not the marrying sort.  But Everard caught her almost in a day.  They met in India.  Eustace and she were touring there one winter.  Everard was a senior subaltern in a Ghurka regiment—­an awfully taking chap evidently.  They practically fell in love with one another at sight.  Poor old Eustace!” Scott paused, faintly smiling.  “He meant her to marry well if she married at