“Dear?” said Isabel.
“Yes,” said Mrs. Comber, smiling.
“I want you to do something for me.”
“Anything in the world, dear, you know. Five, Mrs. Johnson's hill for that ironing; six, Freddie's socks; seven, the suit—”
“No, dear, please—just for a minute I want you to listen altogether to me.”
“Yes, dear.” Mrs. Comber stopped her counting.
“Well, it's this. Mr. Perrin is coming back. I saw him this morning—”
“You saw him this morning! Isabel!”
“Yes. We both went out to see the sun rise—to the Golden View. He talked to me. Dear, I never understood things before—things or people. There must be so many people like that who are so splendid inside and so dull outside.”
“I don't want to be unkind, dear,” Mrs. Comber answered slowly, “but I cannot believe that Mr. Perrin is splendid inside—I can't really.”