A woman-servant opened the door to him, and in answer to his inquiry, informed him that Mr. Rosmead was not at home. Malcolm's sharp eyes noted in the hall beyond the flutter of a petticoat, and as he turned to go he purposely raised his voice.
"I am sorry that I've not a card on me. Will you be so kind as to tell him that Mr. Malcolm Mackinnon from Creagh called to see him and that he will call another day?"
"Yes, sir," said the girl.
But at that moment the figure within came towards the door. It was Sadie, who, having heard the name, advanced with an insatiable curiosity. She extended a very frank hand.
"So you are Mr. Mackinnon that was expected home from India," she said, showing her dazzling teeth in her smile. "Won't you come in and have a bit of lunch with my sister and me? We shall be alone, as my mother does not yet come down."
"Thank you, Miss Rosmead. But that would be presuming on a very slight acquaintance--in fact, none at all, wouldn't it?"
"Oh, but we know your sister and that perfectly dear old father of yours, and, anyway, this is your house and you must want to have a look at the old place after having been away so long. I've no doubt you are hating us for being here. Come in. Oh, Vivien, do come here! It was Mr. Mackinnon whom we met on the road, and I am asking him to lunch."
Malcolm passed into the house, hat in hand, and was duly introduced to Mrs. Rodney Payne. Seen at closer quarters, she was even more beautiful than he had thought. The still repose of her manner contrasted strongly with her sister's vivacity and seemed from the first to cast a sort of spell over Mackinnon.
"We shall be happy if you will stay to luncheon, Mr. Mackinnon," she said, obeying the instructions from Sadie's eyes. "My brother will be very sorry to have missed you. He has gone to the Forth Bridge to-day to meet the contractors there and have a talk with them. It seems it is the annual inspection--or something. Anyway, Peter had an invitation to go. He won't get back till quite late, perhaps not even until to-morrow."
Malcolm Mackinnon did not care. He was in no hurry to meet Mr. Hylton P. Rosmead so long as there was such a charming substitute to take his place. He wouldn't have hesitated about making this glib compliment to another woman, but there was something about Vivien Rosmead which repelled any attempt at even the slightest familiarity. She held herself aloof, and her mouth, made for sweetness, seemed as if it were chiselled in marble. Malcolm wondered what the experience had been that had given her that petrified expression, and he longed to be the man to melt her heart.