Mrs. Bisley did not even smile, but Isla, as she passed by her, paused for the fraction of a second.
"I did not mean to be so rude as you may have thought, but my head ached dreadfully and I felt that I must get away to where it was not necessary to talk."
"I quite understand," replied Mrs. Bisley. "Don't apologize. I don't take offence easily. I'm not that sort. You're Miss Mackinnon, aren't you?"
"Yes."
"It might have saved a lot of talk if you had told me your name at the beginning," she said a trifle drily. "But, after all, perhaps there isn't any great harm done."
"I hope not. You meant to be kind, I'm sure. Good night, Mrs. Bisley."
"Bisley was my name," she said grimly. "Good night, Miss Mackinnon. If it should be that you ever want to see me again--and stranger things have happened--you'll find me at 21 Henrietta Street, off the Edgeware Road--fourth turning on your left from the Marble Arch."
"I'll remember it," said Isla hastily. "Good night."
She was glad once more to escape. She had got much fresh food for thought, and she was at a loss to know how to act in a matter which seemed to concern her, and yet with which she was loth to intermeddle.
On one point, however, her mind was absolutely made up. Malcolm should not win Vivien Rosmead under false pretences. Not for the second time should the peace and happiness of that dear woman be imperilled.