Stranded, she told herself, and practically without a friend. She had proved to the hilt the truism that the world has neither time nor room for the long face or the tale of woe, and that he who smiles, even if his heart be shallow or false, will win through at least cost--ay, and will grasp most of the good things of life as he floats airily by. Isla was fast becoming cynical and inclined to accept the creed of the fatalist who says "What is to be will be". "Well, then, if Uncle Tom leaves to-morrow," she said as she rose to her feet, "we had better go back to Creagh on Wednesday. I’d rather be gone before the Rosmeads come back, and I said Thursday to him." "Oh, do be sociable, Isla! It would only be the kind thing to stop to welcome them decently and thank them for what they’ve done. It’s the very least thing we can do, if you ask me." Isla, whom the Rosmeads had surprised out of her usual reserve, in the first overwhelming horror of her grief, felt inclined to creep back into her shell again, but she saw the reasonableness of her brother’s words. "Well, then, I must leave it to you to arrange, I suppose. I mustn’t forget that you are the head of the house. I’ll be ready to go up to Creagh when you like, and as long as I remain there I’ll try to make you comfortable and happy." She said good-night to him immediately and glided away. But long after her departure Malcolm sat pondering on the future, by no means elated at the prospect of a _tête-à-tête_ existence with the sister who knew so much. He would have been a happier and a more easy-minded man had Isla been getting ready to accompany her Uncle Tom to London. CHAPTER XV SETTLING DOWN Having, in pursuance of a partially concerted plan of existence, thus held out the olive branch to her brother, Isla found the rest easy. Next morning the breakfast-table was unclouded, and Sir Tom departed to London, more comfortable in his mind about his kinsfolk than at any moment since he had arrived in the Glen. "I’m glad that you have come to some sort of understanding with your brother, my dear," he said, as Isla helped him on with his big travelling-coat in the hall, while Rosmead’s horses were waiting at the door. "Just one thing more. Malcolm can’t loaf about here longer than is necessary. Your duty now, having been so faithfully ended where your dear father is concerned, is to put a bit of your own smeddum into your brother. What I’d like--what we’d all like--is to get him back to his regiment. It’s the only honourable way out of a big difficulty." Isla busied herself with smoothing the creases in the back of the coat and made no answer at all. "What about his Colonel--Martindale, isn’t it? Your aunt is intimate with his sister, Lady Chester. We can get at him in that way, though I still think that a straight application from Malcolm couldn’t possibly fail of its purpose. Eh--what?"