"What?" asked Malcolm with a start.
"About Isla."
"What about her? You saw her, of course. I didn't like to harry you with questions, but I suppose she's all right with Lady Betty. She has never written. I have managed, somehow, to commit the unpardonable sin where Isla is concerned. I'm sorry, but there isn't anything I can do now but wait her pleasure. You see it was she who cut the knot, so to speak."
Neil nodded as he crumbled the biscuit on his plate.
"I don't know whether you know, Malcolm, that I have always wanted Isla. I've asked her to marry me on the average about twice a year for the last three or four years. Last year, I believe, I asked her six times."
"Such persistence deserves its reward, and I hope you've got it, old chap," said Malcolm, but his tone lacked warmth.
He could not understand the man who wanted Isla. To him she seemed lacking in most, if not all, of the qualities which make a woman desirable.
"She has said 'Yes' at last, Malcolm, and that's why I am here to-day," said Neil.
And his hand trembled ever so slightly as it rested on the sheer white of the tablecloth.
"Well, and what's going to happen next?" said Malcolm with a curious dry note in his voice. "I'm glad, of course. It--it's a mighty relief to me to hear that anything is likely to anchor Isla or settle her. Though nobody may have given me credit for it, Neil, I've had many a bad hour--ay, and day--about her up here."