"Come in, little sweetheart!" Isabel said.
And she advanced with quickened steps to find Isabel lying propped on the
sofa, looking at her, smiling up at her, with such a glory on her wasted
face as made it "as it had been the face of an angel."
In an instant Dinah was on her knees beside her, with loving arms
clasping her close. "Oh, darling, I've only just heard. Are you better?
Are you better?" she said yearningly.
Isabel held her, and fondly kissed the upturned lips. "Why, I believe
Scott has been frightening you," she said. "Silly fellow! Yes, dear. I am
well--quite well."
"You are sure?" Dinah insisted. "You are really not ill?"
Isabel's smile had in it--had she but known it--a gleam of the Divine.
"My dearest, all is well with me," she said. "I lay down for a little to
please Scott. But I am going to get up now. Where have you been since
_dejeuner_? I missed you."
Dinah clung closer, hiding her face.
Instantly Isabel's arms tightened. The passionate tenderness of them
thrilled her through and through. "Why, child, what has happened?" she
whispered. "Tell me! Tell me!"
But Dinah only hid her face a little deeper. "I don't know how," she
murmured.
There fell a silence. Then, under her breath, Isabel spoke. "My darling,
whisper--just whisper! Who--is it?"
And very, very faintly, at last Dinah made answer. "It--it is--Sir
Eustace.
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