"She is very good-looking," said Lady Macleod. "Oh yes, she is very good-looking. And that is her sister?"
"Yes."
Janet was looking over them too.
"But where did you get all the photographs of her Keith?" she said. "They are from all sorts of places—Scarborough, Newcastle, Brighton—"
"I got them from herself," said he.
"Oh do you know her so well?"
"I know her very well. She was the most intimate friend of the people whose acquaintance I first made in London," he said, simply, and then he turned to his mother; "I wish photographs could speak, mother, for then you might make her acquaintance; and as she is coming to the Highlands next year—"
"We have no theatre in Mull, Keith," Lady Macleod said, with a smile.
"But by that time she will not be an actress at all: did I not tell you that before?" he said, eagerly. "Did I not tell you that? She is going to leave the stage—perhaps sooner or later, but certainly by that time; and when she comes to the Highlands next year with her father, she will be travelling just like any one else. And I hope, mother, you won't let them think that we Highlanders are less hospitable than the people of London."
He made the suggestion in an apparently careless fashion, but there was a painfully anxious look in his eyes. Janet noticed that.