Oh, the wily old plotter! Isla would have argued the point with her and was only restrained from doing so by her sense of decency. But this was the line of diplomacy Lady Betty started on--belittling Neil up to a certain point and voicing her relief at being rid of his company until Isla waxed furious and championed him both by spoken word and in her secret thoughts all the way south. Lady Betty, a real diplomatist in her way, took care, however, not to overact her part. She would throw in at intervals a judicious word which had the odd effect in casting a full glare of sunshine on all that was best of Neil and so giving unexpected glimpses of his fine young manhood. Then, after a time, she left the subject in order that her words might filter down to the bed-rock of Isla’s heart. Very grey and dour seemed Balquhidder and the Garrion hills when Drummond drove up in the snell winter morning, meeting a bitter wind that seemed to skin his face. "All right at home, Hamish?" he asked the groom, and, being answered in the affirmative, he spoke no further word until they turned in at the Garrion gate. "Miss Kitty is at Achree, sir. They came and fetched her away the day you left," observed Hamish stolidly. "Why didn’t you tell me that at the station?" inquired Neil rather hotly, to which question the man answered never a word. "I took the telegram over last nicht, sir, and she will come back to-day," he said after a moment in the same stolid fashion, wondering what had happened in London to shorten his master’s usually placid temper. Kitty arrived in the Achree motor, alone, about luncheon-time. "I want to hear all about Isla, Neil," she cried. "I thought I should find her here. What have you done with her and Aunt Betty?" "They have gone to the South of France." "Oh!" said Kitty, and her piquant face fell. "I don’t call that fair of Aunt Betty. She might have taken me." "If you’re a good girl and don’t talk too much between now and Christmas," said Neil provokingly, "I’ll take you myself to be there in time for Christmas." Kitty danced in ecstasy. "Oh, I shall be glad. It’s going to be a frightfully dismal Christmas here this year, and nobody is going to do any entertaining. The Rosmeads are all down in the mouth because their brother can’t get away for Christmas, and now it may be Easter, or even later, before they see him. Bridge-building seems to be a very unsatisfactory business, though you make so much money at it. Peter Rosmead has to work like a navvy. He goes down into caissons--and things in diver’s clothes to the bottom of the river. That’s where the difficulty is. Things are always happening--silting, and queer things like that. Then the work has to be done all over again. He seems annoyed about it, but he’ll keep on at it. He hasn’t got that square jaw for nothing," cried Kitty breathlessly. "Well, tell me all about Isla Mackinnon. What has she been doing all this time?"