So, in spite of much warning, Cissy capitulated to the newcomer's undoubted personal charm, and from that moment she was Isla's faithful ally and friend.
As she descended the stair Isla met the French maid, and wished her a cool good-afternoon.
"They're waiting tea now, mees; please to hurry," she said pertly, and Isla passed on.
She found the door without mistake, tapped lightly, and entered by invitation of Mrs. Bodley-Chard's thin, reedy voice, which seemed very weak to proceed from such a substantial body.
To her chagrin there was some one else in the room--a youngish man, dressed in a lounge suit of blue serge. He had a slim figure, very dark hair and eyes, and a rather florid complexion. A large moustache, very carefully trimmed, was evidently his pride. He was good-looking after his type, but that was a type which Isla did not admire. He had a gardenia in his button-hole, and the impression created was that of a dandy who gave much consideration to his clothes.
She concluded he was some privileged caller who had dropped in, and, without noticing him, she made her way to Mrs. Chard's couch.
"So you have arrived? Glad to see you, Miss Mackinnon. Let me introduce my husband. Gerald, this is Miss Mackinnon."
Isla gave a start of extreme surprise as she hastily turned to receive Mr. Bodley-Chard's greeting. It was a painful surprise, because the man looked almost young enough to be the son of the woman on the sofa, and the disparity between them in almost every respect seemed in her eyes almost insurmountable.
Mr. Bodley-Chard was most affable, even complimentary, and in that first interview Isla conceived a dislike of him, which was destined to increase with every opportunity she had of seeing more of him.
"Miss Mackinnon will pour out the tea, Edgar," said his wife. "She may as well start right now. Come here, and sit by me."