After this there came a brief silence. Mrs. Mayne stood straight and prim behind the tea-table. Nothing would have induced her to sit in his lordship’s presence, albeit she had dandled him in her arms when there was much less of him than of the cambric and fine flannel which composed his raiment, and albeit his easy familiarity might have invited some forgetfulness of class distinctions. Mrs. Mayne fully understood that she was wanted there to set the stranger at her ease, and she performed her mission; but even her presence could not lessen Isola’s shyness. She felt like a bird caught in a net, or fluttering in the grasp of some strong but kindly hand. She sat listening for carriage wheels, and only hearing the dull thumping of her own scared heart. And yet he was so kind, and yet he so fully realized her idea of high-bred gentleness, that she need hardly have been so troubled by the situation. She stole a glance at him as he stood by the chimney-piece, in a thoughtful attitude, looking down at the burning logs on the massive old andirons. The firelight shining on a face above it will often give a sinister look to the openest countenance; and to-night Lostwithiel’s long, narrow face, dark, deep-set eyes, and pointed beard had some touch of the diabolical in that red and uncertain glow; an effect that was but instantaneous, for as the light changed the look passed, and she saw him as he really was, with his pale and somewhat sunken cheeks, and eyes darkly grave, of exceeding gentleness. “Have you lived long at the Angler’s Nest, Mrs. Disney?” he asked. “Nearly a year and a half; ever since my marriage, with just one interval on the Continent before Martin went to India.” “Then I need not ask if you are heartily sick of the place?” “Indeed, I should not be tired of the cottage or the neighbourhood if my husband were at home. I am only tired of solitude. He wants me to send for his sister--a girl who has not long left school--to keep me company; but I detest school-girls, and I would much rather be alone than put up with a silly companion.” “You are wise beyond your years, Mrs. Disney. Avoid the sister, by all means. She would bore you to death--a scampering, exuberant girl, who would develop hysteria after one month of Cornish dulness. Besides, I am sure you have resources of your own, and that you would rather endure solitude than uncongenial company.” Isola sighed, and shook her head rather dolefully, tracing the pattern of the Persian rug with the point of her stick. “I am very fond of books, and of music,” she said; “but one gets tired of being alone after a time. It seems such ages since Martin and I said good-bye in Venice. I was dreadfully unhappy at first. I stand almost alone in the world, when I am parted from him.” “Your father and mother are dead?” in gentlest inquiry. “Oh no; they are not dead; they are at Dinan,” she said, almost as if it were the same thing. “And that is very far from Trelasco.”