Geoff told her of his people at home, and a little about the sister who had lately died; only a little,--he could not yet trust himself to talk long about her.

Clover listened with frank and gentle interest.

She liked to hear about the old grange at the head of a chine above Clovelley, where Geoff was born, and which had once been full of boys and girls, now scattered in the English fashion to all parts of the world.

There was Ralph with his regiment in India,--he was the heir, it seemed,--and Jim and Jack in Australia, and Oliver with his wife and children in New Zealand, and Allen at Harrow, and another boy fitting for the civil service.

There was a married sister in Scotland, and another in London; and Isabel, the youngest of all, still at home,--the light of the house, and the special pet of the old squire and of Geoff's mother, who, he told Clover, had been a great beauty in her youth, and though nearly seventy, was in his eyes beautiful still.
"It's pretty quiet there for Isabel," he said; "but she has my sister Helen's two children to care for, and that will keep her busy.