gravity were the eyes of a woman and not of a child. She raised
them to look out at the evening sky, indigo blue against the
lamplit interior, or faintly primrose in the west, and wondered
for the thousandth time why it was still such an effort to Val to
refer to his brief military experience. Soft country noises came
in, peaceful and soothing: the short shrill shriek of a bat, the
rustle of a branch of rose-leaves moving like a hand over the
window panes, a faint breathing of wind from the moor. Surely
the scar of war ought to be healed by now! Isabel kept these
thoughts to herself: young as she was, her solitary life--for
a woman alone among men is always to some extent solitary--had
trained her to a clear perception of what had better not be said.

"When is Hyde coming?" asked Val, going on with his salad.

"Tomorrow, didn't you hear me say Laura is going to bring him
here to tea? He's staying at his own place, Farringay--I think
from the way Laura spoke it is what one calls a place--and they
expect him by the morning train. Laura's to meet him in the
car."

"Did you ask her to bring him in to tea," said Rowsley, frowning
over the marmalade jar, "when Val is safe to be out and you
didn't know I should be here?"

"Yes: oughtn't I to have?"

"No."

"Is there anything else you would like to speak to me about?"