"Oh, I am," she answered instantly. "Now shall you be all right while I go to fetch tea?"
"Of course," he said. "Pray don't make a stranger of me!"
She disappeared into the room at the back of the cottage, and he was left alone. The great dog came in with stately stride and lay down at his feet.
Durant sat and looked about him. There was little to attract the eye in the simple furnishing of the tiny room. There was a small bookcase in one corner, but it was covered by a red curtain. Two old-fashioned Dutch figures stood on the mantelpiece on each side of a cheap little clock that seemed to tick at him almost resentfully. The walls were tinted green and bore no pictures or decoration of any sort. There was a plain white tablecloth on the table, and in the middle stood a handleless jug filled with pink and white wild roses, freshly gathered. There was no carpet. The floor was strewn with beach sand.
All these details Durant took in with keen interest. Nothing could have exceeded the simplicity of this dwelling by the sea. There had obviously been no attempt at artistic arrangement. Cleanliness and a neatness almost severe were its only characteristics.
"I hope you like toasted scones, sir," said Molly's voice in the doorway.
He looked round to see her come forward with the tea-tray.
"Nothing better," he said lightly, "particularly if you have made them yourself."
She set down her tray and smiled at him. Her short, curling hair gave her an almost elfish look.
"I've been so busy getting ready," she said childishly. "I've never had a gentleman to tea before."