"It will make a clatter," Miriam objected, "and if you hadn't gone for that walk and made the house feel lonely, I shouldn't be like this now. Something's peeping at me!" "It's only Mr. Pinderwell," Helen said. "Come and dry." "I shall sleep in your bed tonight." "Then I shall sleep in yours." "I wish Rupert would come." "John, do go and shut the windows." "But take a light." "It would be blown out." Helen lowered the mop she had been wielding. "And Notya--where is she?" John lifted his shoulders and opened the door. A gust of wind came down the passage, the front door was loudly shut, and Rupert whistled clearly. "Oh, here he is," Miriam said on a deep breath, and went to meet him. John pointed towards the hall. "I don't know why he should make us all feel brave." "There's something--beautiful about him," Helen said. CHAPTER X Helen was ironing in the kitchen the next afternoon when Daniel Mackenzie appeared in the doorway. She turned to him with a welcome, but the perfection of her manner was lost on Daniel: for the kitchen was empty of Miriam, and that was all he noticed. "Hasn't Rupert come with you?" Helen asked. "I missed him," he said in his melancholy voice. "Perhaps he missed me," he added with resignation. He was a tall young man with large hands and feet, and his eyes were vague behind his spectacles. "I thought he would be here. Is everybody out?" "Notya's away, you know." "He told me." "And John and Miriam--I don't know where they are." He found it difficult to talk to Helen, and as he sat down in the armchair he searched his mind for a remark. "I thought people always ironed on Tuesdays," he said at last. "Some people do. These are just odd things." "Eliza does. She makes us have cold supper. And on Mondays. It's too bad." "But there can't be much to do for you." "I don't know. There's washing on Monday, and on Sunday she goes to church--so she says." Helen changed her iron and worked on. She moved rhythmically and her bare forearms were small and shapely, but Daniel did not look at her. He seemed to be interested in the wrinkled boots he wore, and occasionally he uttered a sad; "Puss, Puss," to the cat sleeping before the fire. A light breeze was blowing outside and Helen sometimes paused to look through the open window. "Our poplars are getting their leaves," she said. "It's strange that I have never seen your garden. Are there any trees in it?" He sat like a half-empty sack of grain, and slowly, with an effort, he raised his head. "What did you say?" "Have you any trees in your garden?" "There's a holly bush in the front and one of those thin trees that have berries--red berries." "A rowan! Oh, I'm glad you have a rowan!" She looked as though he had made a gift to her. He was born to ask questions. "Why?" he said, with his first gleam of interest. "Oh, I like them. Is there a garden at the back?" "Apple-trees," he sighed. "No fruit."