Isla was fast becoming cynical and inclined to accept the creed of the fatalist who says "What is to be will be".
"Well, then, if Uncle Tom leaves to-morrow," she said as she rose to her feet, "we had better go back to Creagh on Wednesday. I'd rather be gone before the Rosmeads come back, and I said Thursday to him."
"Oh, do be sociable, Isla! It would only be the kind thing to stop to welcome them decently and thank them for what they've done. It's the very least thing we can do, if you ask me."
Isla, whom the Rosmeads had surprised out of her usual reserve, in the first overwhelming horror of her grief, felt inclined to creep back into her shell again, but she saw the reasonableness of her brother's words.
"Well, then, I must leave it to you to arrange, I suppose. I mustn't forget that you are the head of the house. I'll be ready to go up to Creagh when you like, and as long as I remain there I'll try to make you comfortable and happy."
She said good-night to him immediately and glided away. But long after her departure Malcolm sat pondering on the future, by no means elated at the prospect of a tête-à-tête existence with the sister who knew so much. He would have been a happier and a more easy-minded man had Isla been getting ready to accompany her Uncle Tom to London.
CHAPTER XV
SETTLING DOWN
Having, in pursuance of a partially concerted plan of existence, thus held out the olive branch to her brother, Isla found the rest easy.
Next morning the breakfast-table was unclouded, and Sir Tom departed to London, more comfortable in his mind about his kinsfolk than at any moment since he had arrived in the Glen.