rather shy and stiff.

'My way? No, not a bit. I'm glad Isabel has somebody to talk to. I'm
afraid it's I who am in the way. I know I'm not very lively company.
Isabel's all right, don't you think? She's not unhappy, is she?'

'I don't think so.'

'What does she say?'

'She says she's very content--only a little troubled about you.'

'Why me?'

'Perhaps afraid that you might brood,' said Bertie, cautiously.

'She needn't be afraid of that.' He continued to caress the flattened
grey head of the cat with his fingers. 'What I am a bit afraid of,' he
resumed, 'is that she'll find me a dead weight, always alone with me down
here.'

'I don't think you need think that,' said Bertie, though this was what he
feared himself.

'I don't know,' said Maurice. 'Sometimes I feel it isn't fair that she's
saddled with me.' Then he dropped his voice curiously. 'I say,' he asked,
secretly struggling, 'is my face much disfigured? Do you mind telling
me?'

'There is the scar,' said Bertie, wondering. 'Yes, it is a disfigurement.