The squire was always kind to me." "And I suppose you played in these sleepy old rooms as a child," said Lucille, looking round at the portraits of dead and gone Howards, whose mistakes were now forgotten.

"Yes." Lucille waited, but the conversation seemed to end there naturally.
Isabella had nothing more to tell of those bygone days.

And, unlike other women, when she had nothing to say she remained silent.
"Did you know Mr.Howard's mother ?" asked Lucille presently.

"I have often wondered what sort of woman she must have been." "I did not know her," was the answer, made more openly.

It was only in respect to herself that Isabella cultivated reticence.