There was entreaty in the words. Her eyes besought him. Her old gnarled hands gripped each other, trembling.
But Sir Eustace looked over her head as though she were not there. His gaze sought and found his sister; and a frown gathered on his clear-cut, handsome face.
"Not in bed yet?" he said, and closing the door moved forward, passing
Biddy by.
Isabel stood and faced him, but she drew back a step as he reached her, and a hunted look crept into her wide eyes.
"You are late," she said. "I thought you had forgotten to say good night."
He was still in evening dress. It was evident that he had only just come upstairs. "No, I didn't forget," he said. "And it seems I am not too late for you. I shouldn't have disturbed you if you had been asleep."
She smiled a quivering, piteous smile. "You knew I should not be asleep," she said.
He glanced towards the bed which Biddy was setting in order with tender solicitude. "I expected to find you in bed nevertheless," he said. "What made you get up again?"
She shook her head in silence, standing before him like a child that expects a merited rebuke.
He put a hand on her shoulder that was authoritative rather than kind.
"Lie down again!" he said. "It is time you settled for the night."