"By the way," he continued, "Malcolm tells me that he hears in the village that Denmore is full of black men, and done up like a scene from 'Chu Chin Chow'—what's the matter?"
Both Allen and Isobel had had a sudden fit of helpless laughter.
"What a set of gossips we all are—go on, dad."
"All I was going to say," pointed out her father huffily, "is that these people are obviously from the East, and if so I shall be glad to cultivate their acquaintance. You know how interested I am in the East. Gossip, indeed!"
He shot into the house, still in a very ruffled condition.
Isobel glanced at her watch.
"Heavens," she said, "I must fly. I've a crow to pick with the War Office over the telephone before dinner. Don't forget—eleven to-morrow, and don't tell anybody."
Allen decided that he was not likely to tell any one. The mere feeling that he and Isobel shared a secret was too precious for that. Every day he fell more deeply in love with her, and every day he felt more sure that the spoilt beauty of the illustrated papers had never existed save in the perverted imaginations of unkind people. On the surface, he and she had slipped easily into the old intimacy they had enjoyed once before, when Isobel was a small girl, but every now and then some chance word or look had awakened a hope in Allen that some deeper bond was being or had been formed between them.
He lay in his chair pondering these and other imaginings with a pleased and fatuous smile, until the sight of his fellows returning reminded him that dinner-time was approaching, and he went in and changed from his flannels into uniform. That evening they played boisterous and childish games. Isobel, looking more than usually lovely, was in a mood of irresponsible gayety; and the patients, catching the infection, became over-excited to such an extent that the sister-in-charge (who was making as much noise as any one) had to assume an official demeanor and threaten to stop the revels. To Allen Isobel hardly spoke a word the whole evening; and if she was aware of his presence where he sat in a big arm-chair in a corner of the hall she gave no sign. When ten o'clock came and sister was shepherding her unruly flock to bed, Isobel was not there to say good night. Allen went to bed in a state of acute misery, convinced that Isobel had done this on purpose (which was the truth) and because she disliked him (which was not the truth). He lay awake pondering dismally on the incomprehensibility of women.