Dinah waited while the cigarette kindled. Then, with a touch of shyness, she spoke.
"Mr. Studley, has—has your sister been an invalid for long?"
He looked at her. "Do you want to hear about her?"
"Yes, please," said Dinah. "If you don't mind."
He began to walk on. It was evident that the hill was something of a difficulty to him. He moved slowly, and his limp became more pronounced. "No, I should like to tell you about her," he said. "You were so good yesterday, and I hadn't prepared you in the least. I hope it didn't give you a shock."
"Of course it didn't," Dinah answered. "I'm not such a donkey as that. I was only very, very sorry."
"Thank you," he said, as if she had expressed direct sympathy with himself. "It's hard to believe, isn't it, that seven years ago she was—even lovelier than the beautiful Miss de Vigne, only in a very different style?"
"Not in the least," Dinah assured him. "She is far lovelier than Rose now. She must have been—beautiful."
"She was," said Scott. "She was like Eustace, except that she was always much softer than he is. You would scarcely believe either that she is three years younger than he is, would you?"
"I certainly shouldn't," Dinah admitted. "But then, she must have come through years of suffering."