“I have not seen Mr. Bathurst lately,” Mrs. Doolan said presently.
“Nor have we,” Isobel said quietly; “it is quite ten days since we saw him last.”
“I suppose he is falling back into his hermit ways,” Mrs. Doolan said carelessly, shooting a keen glance at Isobel, who was leaning over one of the children.
“He quite emerged from his shell for a bit. Mrs. Hunter was saying she never saw such a change in a man, but I suppose he has got tired of it. Captain Forster arrived just in time to fill up the gap. How do you like him, Isobel?”
“He is amusing,” the girl said quietly; “I have never seen anyone quite like him before; he talks in an easy, pleasant sort of way, and tells most amusing stories. Then, when he sits down by one he has the knack of dropping his voice and talking in a confidential sort of way, even when it is only about the weather. I am always asking myself how much of it is real, and what there is under the surface.”
Mrs. Doolan nodded approval.
“I don't think there is much under the surface, dear, and what there is is just as well left alone; but there is no doubt he can be delightful when he chooses, and very few women would not feel flattered by the attentions of a man who is said to be the handsomest officer in the Indian army, and who has besides distinguished himself several times as a particularly dashing officer.”
“I don't think handsomeness goes for much in a man,” Isobel said shortly.
Mrs. Doolan laughed.
“Why should it not go for as much as prettiness in a woman? It is no use being cynical, Isobel; it is part of our nature to admire pretty things, and as far as I can see an exceptionally handsome man is as legitimate an object of admiration as a lovely woman.”