"Yes. I've got a room in the village for half-a-crown a week and 'board myself' as the good woman of the house says. And I'm perfectly happy!"
A long pause followed. The fire was dying down from a flame to a dull red glow, and a rush of wind against the kitchen window was accompanied by the light pattering of rain. Angus Reay rose.
"I must be going,"—he said—"I've made you quite a visitation! Old David is nearly asleep!"
Helmsley looked up.
"Not I!" and he smiled—"I'm very wide awake: I like your story, and I like you! Perhaps you'll come in again sometimes and have a chat with us?"
Reay glanced enquiringly at Mary, who had also risen from her chair, and was now lighting the lamp on the table.
"May I?" he asked hesitatingly.
"Why, of course!" And her eyes met his with hospitable frankness—"Come whenever you feel lonely!"
"I often do that!" he said.
"All the better!—then we shall often see you!"—she answered—"And you'll always be welcome!"