"I don't want to be glum, but I have felt rather mean these two days, Malcolm. Perhaps we ought to have told Uncle Tom and Aunt Jean. Didn't you feel that we were there under false pretences? They would have felt differently, I mean, if they had known that you had sent in your papers."
He shrugged his shoulders, tossed his cap to the rack, and took out his cigarette case.
"Do you mind if I take a whiff? I suppose it would have made a difference, but why intrude unpleasant topics until one can't avoid them? That's a pretty good and safe philosophy of life, Isla--to lie low and keep dark about what can't be helped."
"They will know before you go back to London again, that is, if you were serious about going to them in May."
"Anything may happen between now and the month of May. The thing is to grease the ropes. Now, what earthly good would it have done to have told them the real state of affairs? It would only have depressed them and made us all most beastly uncomfortable. By the by, as we are on the subject, may I inquire how many people in the Glen you have told?"
"Only Neil Drummond."
"That young, unlicked cub! And why, in Heaven's name, should you have told him? Are you engaged to him--or what? There must be some reason why he should be taken into the family's most private counsels."
"I had to tell somebody, and it was in a manner forced on me," she said rather coldly. "But you need not be afraid of Neil telling anyone. He feels it too much."
"Very kind of him, I'm sure. Well now, tell me something about this American chap. Is he a bounder, like the rest of them?"
"No, he's a gentleman, Malcolm."