For just the fraction of a moment nobody spoke.
"Mr. Rosmead has told me of their great, unheard-of kindness, Isla," said Malcolm in a queer strained voice, "and we have arranged it all. To-morrow afternoon--late about six o'clock we shall take him down to Achree. Mr. Rosmead is to run his fast motor to Callander in the morning in order to make the necessary arrangements. I have told him we can't thank him."
"No," answered Isla very low, "we can't."
"That's all right," said Rosmead cheerily. "Good night then, Miss Mackinnon. Go to bed and have a good sleep. Good night, Mr. Drummond."
"Good night," said Neil, and he affected not to see the outstretched hand.
Rosmead took no offence. He was too big-hearted, and perhaps he had an inkling of how it was with the young man.
"I had better go, too, I suppose," said Neil a little stiffly, and Isla bade them both good night.
When Malcolm returned from seeing them off he could not find Isla, and when he went upstairs her door was shut.
He tapped lightly at it, and she opened it just a few inches.
"You'll excuse me to-night, won't you, Malcolm?" she said gently but coldly. "I am very tired. I couldn't discuss anything to-night. To-morrow we can talk things over, but I want just to say that I am sorry I spoke as I did this afternoon. He would not have liked it, I am sure."