"No," snapped the woman. "It was a bit of business I was on, and it was last night before I saw the party I had to see. Not but what I was comfortable there, and they do make good food. Ever stopped there? They tell me they hadn’t an empty bed from Easter till now--full up with fishermen and that sort. Can’t understand it--don’t pretend to. It’s the silence--the big empty silence that gets at me. It would drive me crazy in a month, and I’d be gettin’ up in my sleep and wanderin’ into that water." "You would get used to Strathyre," said Isla, smiling a little as she raised her paper, and hoping that there might now be a reprieve. Her passionate hope was that the woman, who had all the unreserve of her class, would not be seized with a sudden desire to confide the nature of her business to her fellow-traveller. She did not want to hear the truth from these lips. If necessary she would have to tell her somehow that she did not wish to go on talking. "I doubt it very much! I’ve been about too much and seen too much life to settle down in the country. I may have to, perhaps, later on, when I get older and not so fond of racket. Nothing to hurt--don’t you know?--only a night at one of the halls and a good old canter down Regent Street and Oxford Street." "I never saw anybody riding there," said Isla in a startled voice. "I don’t mean that, of course!" laughed the stranger; "not but what I could do it and make the traffic sit up for me too. When I was in India I had me own horse every mornin’ and them grinnin’ black men to hold it for me till I was ready to mount. I had a figure then as slim as yours, and they all said I looked better in me habit than in anything else." "What part of India were you in?" asked Isla, fascinated in spite of herself. "Pretty well all over, but latterly I was in the north. My husband was in the Fighting Fifth. Ever heard of them?" "Yes, of course. They were through the Afghan campaign. My father was a soldier, and he used to show us as children their marches on the map." "Oh, indeed! Then you know something about the service? Any brother in it?" "I had one," said Isla, and the colour rose hotly in her face. "I love it. Even when I was a little nipper I always said I’d never marry anybody but a soldier. And I didn’t." "Is your husband alive still?" "No--dead. Killed in action he was, a-savin’ of his Colonel. I’ve got the little brown cross at home somewhere. These were the days! There never was a braver chap than Joe Bisley ever shouldered a musket. Ah, poor Joe!" Isla, perceiving that her companion was now in the throes of reminiscence, shrank back nervously in her corner. "Doesn’t it make your head ache to talk in the train?" she asked rather hastily. "There are heaps of papers here if you like to read. You are welcome to any of them. The gentleman who saw me off bought a great many."