"So you have come back, Isla?" said Malcolm awkwardly. "Neil and I were just discussing whether we should come to Achree to fetch you."
"Mr. Rosmead was so kind as to bring me up, and I think he wishes to speak to you, Malcolm," said Isla. "Good evening, Neil."
Neil came forward with outstretched hand, his honest eyes full of deepest sympathy and compassion.
"I need not say what I feel about this, Isla. I heard it at Strathyre this evening, at six o'clock, and I couldn't believe it. I was only on my bicycle, so I went home straight and got the horses. My dear, this is a terrible thing."
Isla nodded and, seeing that Malcolm had disappeared into the library with Rosmead, she asked Neil to come to the little dining-room which he and Malcolm had recently left, and where the remains of Malcolm's evening meal still stood on the table.
Drummond closed the door, and Isla sat down, as if very weary. He was surprised to behold her so calm and self-possessed.
"What took you away to Achree, Isla?" he asked jealously. "Malcolm has been frightfully anxious about you."
"He needn't have been. I left a message with Diarmid," she answered listlessly.
"But it seemed odd for you to go there to these new people. They are not your friends, Isla. We have a better right."
"Not my friends!" she said in tones of wonderment. "You say that because you don't understand--because you don't know what they are. I think there cannot be many people like them in the world, Neil. Do you know that they are all turning out of Achree to-morrow--even the frail invalid mother--and going right back to Glasgow on their motor-car in order that we may have Achree to ourselves for the funeral?"