"You must be more sociable this coming summer. For your little daughter's sake, you must be; and you will find it better for yourself to mix more with your fellow-creatures. I have come to the conclusion that my enforced seclusion has had its purposes, but it would not be good for me to continue it. A solitary life tends to selfishness; don't you think so?"
"Not in your case," he said warmly; "I have never met with such sympathy and understanding in my life before!" Then abruptly he rose to his feet. "I will go to the Macintoshes now. You will hear from me, if I do not come over to-morrow."
He took his departure. Rowena shook her head when he had gone.
"My dear," she soliloquized to herself, "you're not a young romantic girl! Remember your age and experience. You have had many men friends. Don't expect this particular man to mean anything more than mere platonic friendship. A very good and useful thing in its way!"
The next day came, and the next, but no letter from the laird.
Then at the end of the week Mrs. Macintosh came over and told Rowena that she had promised to give Mysie a home for the summer. And Rowena heard that the laird had gone off suddenly to town. She still waited for his letter, but it did not come, and the next thing was a wire from her brother, asking her to sail at once in the Lesbia, a P. & O. steamer going in a fortnight's time. Mysie went off to Mrs. Macintosh. She felt the parting from Rowena keenly, but, child-like, intended to enjoy her life at the manse. Rowena hastily packed up her things and went up to town. She knew General Macdonald's address there, and one day had talk with him through the telephone.
It was strangely unsatisfactory.
Rowena told him she was going sooner than she had thought, and had left Mysie comfortably settled in the manse. His replies were cold and grave. He wished her a safe journey, and thanked her for all she had done for his little girl.
At the end of the interview, he said:
"I understood your silence, so have not troubled you with any more correspondence."