"I have to lunch with Mr. Neil Drummond of Garrion at one. I must run," she said.
The lawyer himself escorted her to the street door, put her into a cab, and, as he returned slowly up the stairs, rubbed his hands together meditatively.
"Drummond of Garrion! Well, well, perhaps it might be the best thing she could do. Poor, poor girl, but game to the innermost fibre of her being! Where would our old families be but for such as she--but for the fine fibre of their women? Garrion! Garrion! By Gad, I must look into it and see whether it would be worth her while."
CHAPTER IV
THE AMERICANS
"Did you ever see such a shabby room, Peter? It positively reeks of poverty."
Thus did Sadie Rosmead deliver herself to her brother after the drawing-room door had been shut upon them at Achree, and Diarmid had gone to seek his mistress.
On the Monday following Isla's visit to Glasgow, and, in consequence of a letter from Cattanach, the Rosmeads had made a hurried journey out to Glenogle for the purpose of making acquaintance with the interior of the house that they so much admired, and, if possible, of coming to terms with its owners.
They were a handsome pair. Rosmead himself, a man of about thirty-five, well, but quietly, dressed, and carrying his firmly-knit figure with conscious ease and strength, had a strong, fine face, lit by pleasant grey eyes that gave a very fair index to his character. He was a man who, by his own effort, by the sheer force of his ability, which, in his own domain amounted to genius, had achieved a distinction and a success manifest in his very bearing.
Once seen, Peter Rosmead would not be readily forgotten. He was a man who could not be in any company without leaving the mark of his personality upon it.