"Of course, dear," said Scott.
Dinah, glancing towards him, saw him exchange a swift look with the old nurse in the background, but his voice held neither surprise nor gratification. He took out a cigarette and began to smoke.
Isabel leaned back in her chair with abrupt weariness as if in reaction from the strain of a sudden unwonted exertion. "Let me see! Do I know your Christian name? Ah yes,—Dinah! What a pretty gipsy name! I think you are a little gipsy, are you not? You have the charm of the woods about you. Won't you sit in that chair, dear? You can't be comfortable on the floor."
But Dinah preferred to sit down against her knee, still holding the slender, inert hand.
"Tell me about your home!" Isabel said, closing languid eyes. "I can't talk much more, but I can listen. It does not tire me to listen."
Dinah hesitated somewhat. "I don't think you would find it very interesting," she said.
"But I am interested," Isabel said. "You live in the country, I think you said."
"At a place called Perrythorpe," Dinah said. "It's a great hunting country. My father hunts a lot and shoots too."
"Do you hunt?" asked Isabel.
"Oh no, never! There's never any time. I go for rambles sometimes on Sundays. Other days I am always busy. Fancy me hunting!" said Dinah, with a little laugh.