"Dangerous criminal?" said Mary, rather sharply; "that is hardly the—the proper phrase to use—with regard to—to a stranger. However, it is not of much consequence. Käthchen, are you going to drive with me to Cruagan to get that sheriff’s officer and his men sent back?" "Yes, certainly," said Käthchen, in her usual business-like fashion, "as soon as we have had lunch. And remember, Mamie, it wasn’t _I_ who forgot to ask him to stay." Luncheon did not detain them long, and immediately thereafter they got into the waggonette that was waiting for them, and drove off. But it was not of the eviction and the possibility of another riot that Mary was mostly thinking; something very different was weighing, and weighing heavily, on her mind. They drove through the village in silence; they crossed the bridge; and they had begun the ascent of the steep hill before she spoke. "The more I consider it," she said, "the more ashamed I am." "Consider what?" said Käthchen. "Why, neglecting to ask him to stay to lunch," she made answer—for this was what she had been brooding over. "Why should you worry about such a trifle!" Käthchen protested. "It isn’t a trifle—in a Highlander’s estimation, as you know well enough. They pride themselves on their hospitality; and they judge others by their own standards; so that I cannot but keep wondering what he must be thinking of me at this moment. Remember, Käthchen, when we went over to Heimra, even the old housekeeper entertained us, and did her best for us, in that out-of-the-world place; and here he comes to Lochgarra House—his first visit—he comes to do me a kindness—he comes to prevent mischief—and comes into the house that once was his own—and I don’t offer him even a biscuit and a glass of sherry——" "Really, Mary, you needn’t worry about such a mere trifle!" Käthchen protested again. "But I do worry!" she said. "I can imagine what he thought of me as he went away. For you must not forget this, Käthchen: it was a very awkward position he put himself into in order to do me a good turn. Think of his coming to the house, that ought to be his own—asking the servants if he might be admitted—sending up his name as a stranger—then he remains standing in the drawing-room—and he is for going away without shaking hands—as if he were hardly to be considered one’s fellow-creature." She was silent for a second or two; then she said, with a sudden touch of asperity: "At the same time there is this to be remembered, that the pride that apes humility is the very worst kind of pride. Often it simply means that the person is inordinately vain." "Poor young man!" said Käthchen, with a sigh. "He is always in the wrong. But I’m sure I did not object to his manner when he showed us the way out of the Meall-na-Fearn bog."