"That is true enough," Mary admitted; but then she went on to say, with some asperity: "At the same time, a favour is twice a favour when it is graciously conferred. He seemed to me a most ill-mannered young man. I doubt whether he would have come near us at all if he had known who we were."
"Oh, I don't agree with you—not in the least!" said Käthchen, warmly. "I thought he was most courteous, and—and respectful. Remember, we were entirely strangers to him. And just think of his going all the way to Lochgarra to get the carriage sent for us—and very quickly he must have done it, too."
But Mary had not a word in favour of this young man whom she suspected of far worse offences (in her eyes) than killing salmon or bringing smuggled brandy into the district: she suspected him, in truth, of stirring up wrath and ill-will, and setting these people against her.
"I suppose," she said, rather coldly, "we must thank him, if we should see him."
"I, for one, mean to do so, and very heartily," Käthchen said at once. "I think he was most kind and considerate—if—if a little—a little reserved. And not at all the wild savage I had expected—most distinguished-looking, I should call him——"
"Come away down to breakfast, Käthchen," said Mary, taking her friend by the arm: she would hear no more on that subject.
In the hall they encountered the little Highland lass who had been their guide on the previous night; and she, looking up with timid eyes towards this tall and beautiful lady whose smile was so gracious and winning, said—
"Am I to be going home now?"
"Home?" said Mary. "Have you had your breakfast?"
"Oh, yes, indeed."