“And do you never leave her?” questioned Dinah.

“Practically never.  Ever since that awful time in India she has been very dependent upon me.  Biddy of course is quite indispensable to her.  And I am nearly so.”

“You have given yourself up to her in fact?” Quick admiration was in Dinah’s tone.

He smiled.  “It didn’t mean so much to me as it would have meant to some men, Miss Bathurst,—­as it would have meant to Eustace, for instance.  I’m not much of a man.  To give up my college career and settle down at home wasn’t such a great wrench.  I’m not especially clever.  I act as my brother’s secretary, and we find it answers very well.  He is a rich man, and there is a good deal of business in connection with the estate, and so on.  I am a poor man.  By my father’s will nearly everything was left to him and to Isabel.  I was something of an offence to him, being the cause of my mother’s death and misshapen into the bargain.”

“What a wicked shame!” broke from Dinah.

“No, no!  Some people are like that.  They are made so.  I don’t feel in the least bitter about it.  He left me enough to live upon, though as a matter of fact neither he nor anyone else expected me to grow up at the time that will was made.  It was solely due to Biddy’s devotion, I believe, that I managed to do so.”  He uttered his quiet laugh.  “I am talking rather much about myself.  It’s kind of you not to be bored.”

“Bored!” echoed Dinah, with shining eyes.  “I think you are simply wonderful.  I hope—­I hope Sir Eustace realizes it.”

“I hope he does,” agreed Scott with a twinkle.  “He has ample opportunities for doing so.  Ah, there he is!  He is actually skating alone.  What has become of the beautiful Miss de Vigne, I wonder.”

They walked on, nearing the rink.  “I’m not going to be horrid about her any more,” said Dinah suddenly.  “You must have thought me a perfect little cat.  And so I was!”

“Oh, please!” protested Scott.  “I didn’t!”

She laughed.  “That just shows how kind you are.  It doesn’t make me feel the least bit better.  I was a cat.  There!  Oh, your brother is calling you.  I think I’ll go.”

She blushed very deeply and quickened her steps.  Sir Eustace had come to the edge of the rink.

“Stumpy!” he called.  “Stumpy!”

“How dare he call you that?” said Dinah.  “I can’t think how you can put up with it.”

Scott raised his shoulders slightly, philosophically.  “Doesn’t the cap fit?” he said.

“Not a bit,” Dinah declared with emphasis.  “I have another name for you that suits you far better.”

“Oh!  What is that?” he looked at her with smiling curiosity.

Dinah’s blush deepened from carmine to crimson.  “I call you—­Mr. Greatheart,” she said, her voice very low.  “Because you help everybody.”

A gleam of surprise crossed his face.  He flushed also; but she saw that though embarrassed, he was not displeased.