She turned her small proud head to him, and her clear eyes flashed.
"Malcolm, I do really wonder what you are made of."
"Flesh and blood like other folks, and I can't get away from this. How much are they paying?"
"Five hundred a year with the shooting, and we propose to live on three and to lay bye the other two to help to pay off those terrible obligations you spoke of in your letter, which has kept me awake more or less since ever it came."
He laughed airily.
"Now that's just like a woman--to imagine that the practice of small and most beastly uncomfortable economies could do any good! Have you reckoned out that it will take ten years at the rate you speak of to get me clear? Most of us will be dead by that time."
"The train is going, thank God," said Isla in a high, clear, outraged voice. "Let us get in. I don't want to talk any more to you, Malcolm--either now or at any other time. You--you are outside the pale."
"Now take it easy, old girl. I made a clean breast of it all just to show you that I was really penitent; and of course I wasn't to blame for getting chucked. Any fool in the Thirty-fifth will tell you that. But this little attempt to pull the financial wires does strike a chap as rather comical. What did old Cattanach say? I suppose he's still at the helm--worse luck for me."
"Yes, he is. I gave him your letter, Malcolm."
"The deuce you did! Then you shouldn't have done it. He's a fossil--knows nothing about life. But there--don't let us quarrel about such things. I am jolly glad to see you, old girl. And now I'll relieve you of all these beastly sordid cares. But Creagh, good Lord!--and not a bit of horse-flesh on the premises, I could bet my bottom dollar! I think I must try and rake up a motor-bike before I leave town; otherwise it will be like being buried alive."