Vivien was distinctly disappointed in Isla Mackinnon--her persistent coldness had chilled her. She had proved that Highland hearts can be very warm and kindly, and she thought that Isla had not met their advances with corresponding cordiality. But, having herself suffered, she did not judge any man--much less any woman. She knew she must leave Isla to realize herself and to work out her own destiny. It was tea-time when Isla got back, and Malcolm was about the house. His face was serene and undisturbed. Isla therefore surmised that he had not encountered the lady of the purple gown. Should she enlighten him? Was it her duty to warn him that the woman, with whom he undoubtedly had some slight acquaintance--even if nothing more--was in the vicinity making inquiries about him? Though he had happened to miss her that day, she was haunting the neighbourhood, and Strathyre was, so to speak, but a stone’s throw from Glenogle. "I’ve been trysting Jamie Forbes for the morning, Malcolm," she said quietly. "I’m going with the nine-thirty." "Going where?" he asked with a start. "To Glasgow, first. I will have just a word with Mr. Cattanach. Then I will take the two o’clock train." "For London?" She nodded. There was no reason why she should hide the first step of her journey from him--no reason at all. "And will you go on to Dieppe by the night boat, then?" She shook her head. "There is no need for such haste," she answered. "And I am not a stranger in London. I can find my way about. I’ll stop the night at the Euston Hotel." "Have you money?" he asked, trying hard to hide his relief. "I have twenty pounds." "Oh, you are in clover. It is not a dear fare to Wimereaux, even if you travel first class. And, of course, it will cost you nothing while you are there. They seem to be living at heck and manger for next to nothing, but how Uncle Tom does loathe it! I suppose you’ll come back with them as far as Glasgow when they come north next month?" "I suppose so," she answered listlessly. There was no reason why she should either affirm or deny, because she herself did not know what she might do. Everything would depend. It might even be on the knees of the gods that she would drift to Wimereaux in the end. "I’ve been to lunch at Achree," she said suddenly. "I met Miss Rosmead on the road, and she made me go in. Mrs. Rosmead looks very ill, I think." "Nothing to what she did look. And they are so accustomed to snatching her back from the jaws of death," said Malcolm grimly, "that they are quite satisfied about her." "Oh!" said Isla. "You go there a great deal, Malcolm. They seem to think you a splendid sort of fellow." It was a curious speech and did not sound quite kindly. Malcolm, however, took it well, though there was a touch of bitterness in his reply.