"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."
"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."
"Ah, I don’t wonder!" said the other with an admiring glance of approval. "You are just the sort that they would buy everything for if they got the chance. A little standoffish, too--ain’t that what they like? Oh, I know them through and through!"
In spite of herself, Isla laughed out loud.
"Oh, it was a very old friend of my family who was seeing me off to-day! My father’s lawyer in fact."
"Ah, then, he knew what side his bread was buttered on. And are you goin’ to London, may I ask?"
"I shall stay the night at the Euston Hotel. I may go abroad. My plans are a little indefinite at present."
"Same as mine. It ain’t an easy thing for a lone woman to make up her mind, and, as I told the party I spoke of, last night, I’m gettin’ tired of uncertainty. I want to know where I am. That’s what for I took that long journey and stopped at that queer little hotel. I wanted to see a party and get my bearings."
"And did you get them?" asked Isla desperately.
"Yes, I think so. But, bless you, you never know where you are with them. They’re as slippery as eels. If you weren’t so pretty, my dear, I’d warn you to steer clear of them for the rest of your mortal life. But it ain’t in reason that you’ll be allowed. There must be dozens after you."