His sister was small, but elegant; dressed with conspicuous plainness, but in a style which has to be paid for with considerable cheques. The feature of her costume was undoubtedly her veil, which, when worn by a really elegant American woman such as Sadie Rosmead certainly was, becomes a thing of distinction. It was only a long width of blue chiffon attached to a small felt hat of the same hue, but it made a most becoming setting to her dark, piquant face.
"Yes--it positively reeks of poverty. Look at the darn in the carpet, Peter!" she said severely. "This is a house of makeshifts, but it's decent poverty, and I've never seen anything so clean in the whole of my life. It would charm mother. How I wish she could have come to-day!"
Still Peter did not answer. There was something about the room which pained him, but he could not have explained what it was. It seemed to him indecent that two strangers, such as they were, should have come to view the poverty of the land. Cattanach had told Rosmead several things that he had not mentioned to any of his women folks; therefore, he was very eager and interested to see Miss Mackinnon.
Sadie babbled on.
"If it were not so clean it would be impossible. But there are some awfully pretty things. Look at that bit of tapestry on the end wall and at that coat of arms worked on the banner screen. It's just too sweet for anything. Now, what are you looking at, Peter?--oh, the miniatures! Anything good?"
There was a small collection on the mantelpiece, framed in ebony and standing on little brass tripods--very exquisite things in their way, and part of the few remaining treasures of Achree. Rosmead was studying them intently, and his sister was examining with interest the various bits of old needlework in the room, when the door was opened by rather a quick, nervous hand, and some one came in.
Rosmead turned back from the mantelpiece, and Sadie dropped the cushion with the peacock sewn upon its cover, and turned with a charming smile.
"Don't be angry, Miss Mackinnon. We are not sampling anything, but we are Americans--don't you know--and everything in this lovely old house appeals to us. You are Miss Mackinnon, aren't you? I'm Sadie Rosmead, and this is my brother Peter."
It was charmingly done, and it brought a slight smile, in spite of herself, to Isla's parted lips. She had been walking very fast, and the colour was high in her cheek. Her jacket was thrown back to show the neat flannel shirt belted trimly to her waist, and the black tie held in its place by the silver brooch, curiously wrought and displaying the arms of the Mackinnons, the same design being repeated in the buckle of her belt.
"I am so sorry you have been kept waiting. I was at the other side of the wood, seeing a sick woman. How-do-you-do?"