'More cosier--_if_ you don't
mind.'
'You shall have it where you like, boys, where you like.'
She disappeared. In a minute a girl of about sixteen came in. She was
tall and fresh, with dark, young, expressionless eyes, and well-drawn
brows, and the immature softness and mindlessness of the sensuous Celtic
type.
'Ho, Maryann! Evenin', Maryann! How's Maryann, now?' came the multiple
greeting.
She replied to everybody in a soft voice, a strange, soft _aplomb_ that
was very attractive. And she moved round with rather mechanical,
attractive movements, as if her thoughts were elsewhere. But she had
always this dim far-awayness in her bearing: a sort of modesty. The
strange man by the fire watched her curiously. There was an alert,
inquisitive, mindless curiosity on his well-coloured face.
'I'll have a bit of supper with you, if I might,' he said.
She looked at him, with her clear, unreasoning eyes, just like the eyes
of some non-human creature.
'I'll ask mother,' she said. Her voice was soft-breathing, gently
singsong.
When she came in again:
'Yes,' she said, almost whispering. 'What will you have?'
'What have you got?' he said, looking up into her face.
'There's cold meat--'
'That's for me, then.'
The stranger sat at the end of the table and ate with the tired, quiet
soldiers. Now, the landlady was interested in him. Her brow was knit
rather tense, there was a look of panic in her large, healthy face, but
her small brown eyes were fixed most dangerously.
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