"It won’t come," she said with a little nod. "I’m one of those predestined to gloom. Tell me, Mr. Cattanach, before I go," she added with a little touch of wistful tenderness that wholly became her, "how do you think it is with my brother now? You have seen him several times. Is--is he doing well? You wonder perhaps that I should ask. But my judgment, where he is concerned, has become entirely distorted. That is one of the reasons why I want to get away, because I am seeing nothing clearly, fairly, or justly, especially in relation to him." "I think he means well. But he is not fitted for the life of a country laird. He would have made a better soldier. It is a thousand pities that he had to leave the Army." "It is. Don’t you think," she added after a moment’s hesitation, "don’t you think it a very wonderful thing that the true story of his leaving the Army has never got about?" "I think it more than wonderful. There must have been somebody very high in power, manipulating the strings in the background. But it is a very good thing for you that the story was hushed up." "But I don’t think that Malcolm realizes how he has been spared. He is not so grateful as he ought to be," she said. And then she bit her lip, as if she regretted the condemnatory words and as if she wished to recall them. "I can take you out to lunch to-day, I hope?" said the lawyer, pulling out his watch. "Unless Mr. Drummond is waiting somewhere round the corner?" he added with a smile. "No, I am quite alone, and I shall be very pleased to go to lunch with you," said Isla. She found the next hour quite pleasant. Cattanach took her to the station, transferred her luggage, and secured for her a comfortable seat in the London train. He could not wait until its departure, however, as he had a West-End appointment at two o’clock. They parted cordially and Isla repeated her promise to send him her London address as soon as she herself was quite sure of it. She spread her things about and then, tucking her rug about her, began to glance over some of the illustrated papers. So far, no one had interfered with her privacy by entering the compartment. She had no expectation, however, that she would be allowed to retain it all the way. About three minutes before the train started there was a great bustle and talking outside the carriage window, and presently a porter, laden with sundry small packages, most of them rolled up in brown paper, entered the compartment, followed by a large woman in a brown tweed travelling coat of ample dimensions. Isla looked over the rim of her paper in mild curiosity and then quite suddenly she paled a little and hastily withdrew behind her screen. It was the lady of the purple gown. CHAPTER XIX IN THE LONDON TRAIN