"It is very damp in parts," said Isla stoutly. "I am not seeking to deny it. I am sorry I wrote like that about the stove. You see," she added with her wandering smile which to him was wholly pathetic, "I am new to the business of house-letting, and you must be patient with me."
Her brief anger and irritation vanished under his clear, kind gaze, and the immensity of comfort and strength that seemed to be created by his very presence.
"You may trust me to do nothing which would alter the house out of your recognition," he said gently. "My mother is an old lady, and her chest is weak. It is absolutely necessary that she be kept warm and that no damp should be allowed to come near her. We are charmed with the house and with the kindness which you showed to us that day we came. My sister has never ceased to talk about it, and my mother is looking forward very much to making your acquaintance."
"Thank you, but at the moor of Creagh we shall be very much out of the way," said Isla softly.
"A quick and strong car annihilates distance," he reminded her.
But she made a quick little gesture of dissent.
"I think the moor of silence would beat it," she answered. "Well, I am taking my father up to Creagh next Monday, and when I have settled him in it I am going to London for a few days. The house will be quite empty and ready for you from next Monday, and I hope that you will not find it disappointing. At least I haven't embroidered any of the facts."
"You are going to London?" he said, as if surprised.
"Yes, I have to meet my brother's boat at Plymouth. He is returning from India."
"A soldier?" he ventured to ask, remembering the General's rank and wondering at the dull flush that rose to her face.