He told her a few more antiquarian facts about the room, and its
builders, she meanwhile looking in some perplexity from the rich
embossments of the ceiling with its Tudor roses and crowns, from the
stately mantelpiece and canopied doors, to the few pieces of shabby
modern furniture which disfigured the room, the half-dozen cane chairs,
the ugly lodging-house carpet and sideboard. What had become of the old
furnishings? How could they have disappeared so utterly?

Helbeck, however, did not enlighten her. He talked indeed with no
freedom, merely to pass the time.

She perfectly recognised that he was not at ease with her, and she
hurried her meal, in spite of her very frank hunger, that she might set
him free. But, as she was putting down her coffee-cup for the last time,
she suddenly said:

"It's a very good air here, isn't it, Mr. Helbeck?"

"I believe so," he replied, in some surprise. "It's a mixture of the sea
and the mountains. Everybody here--most of the poor people--live to a
great age."

"That's all right! Then Augustina will soon get strong here. She can't do
without me yet--but you know, of course--I have decided--about myself?"

Somehow, as she looked across to her host, her little figure, in its
plain white dress and black ribbons, expressed a curious tension. "She
wants to make it very plain to me," thought Helbeck, "that if she comes
here as my guest, it is only as a favour, to look after my sister."