He said a bad word under his breath as he passed out, and yet for the life of him he could not be angry with her. She saw through him, of course; right through to the very worst part of him, and yet she was his friend. When he joined the gathering outside Lady George was already shaking hands benignly with all and sundry, whispering between whiles to Mrs. Woodward that it was a Highland custom, and so much more conducive to proper relations between landlord and tenant than the English standoffishness. In fact, she was in her element, in a new part of great capabilities. Paul, on the other hand, merely nodded and smiled; but his great personal beauty, his reputation as a soldier and a sportsman, went further towards popularity among both the men and the women than all his sister's condescension. And still the Bach fugue went on, being, in truth, susceptible of many repeats and _da capos_, while Marjory, over the music desk, gave annoyed glances at the dainty little figure at the door. During the past week of Paul's absence, the charm of his personality had faded, leaving behind it the memory that he was hardly of her world; that even if he had been, he was hardly the sort of man with whom she could have sympathy. And yet, with the sight of him, had come back the old excuses, the old conviction that he slandered himself. It did not make her feel any the more kindly towards the world which held him back from his better self; towards women, for instance, like this one at the door. "Are you not coming, Violet? The others have gone on." Paul's voice had a note of warning in it, but she never heeded his thunderings like others did, and in that lay the secret of her power over him. "I am waiting for you to introduce me to Miss Carmichael," she said calmly; "then we can walk home together. I want to ask her where she learned to play Bach." A transparent prevarication, but one it was impossible to set aside; nor, to tell truth, did Paul wish to set it aside. The temptation presented to him by this little Eve in a Paris costume, was far too welcome for that; so welcome that the very excess of his own fierce desire to yield to it made him silent, while Mrs. Vane set herself deliberately to pierce through the girl's shield of stiff politeness. Not a difficult task with one so quick to respond to the least touch of sympathy; besides, Mrs. Vane in her girlhood had lived in the great world of music, among people who were to Marjory as prophets and kings. So she was soon deep in eager inquiry, and positively felt impatient as, when they were passing old Peggy's cottage, little Paul started up from the brackens with a quick message that his grannie would like to see Miss Marjory, if she could spare time. "What a pretty little fellow," remarked Mrs. Vane. "Is Paul a common name about here? or is it a compliment to the laird?" She asked the question carelessly, and was genuinely surprised at the look it brought to the elder Paul's face.