"Their headquarters are at Nice. My aunt has taken a villa. The old lady is going strong, and she is looking younger every day. What a warrior she is! She could give points to most of the girls one sees. She knows how to enjoy life at seventy-five. She had her birthday when I was there, and she had a dinner party of twelve. She has unearthed all sorts of old friends on the Riviera, and more are turning up every day. The latest is a Russian princess, whose mother was a Scotswoman somewhere away back in the dark ages. They’re all having the time of their lives." Neil was making talk, and they both knew it. It was not to rehearse these trivial items that he had come up that day to the Moor of Creagh. Just then Diarmid made timely diversion by announcing that luncheon was served. His manner was irreproachable and dignified, and it could not have been excelled in the most distinguished establishment. It was a great day for Diarmid, and he waited behind his young master’s chair with a secret pride, for the Laird of Garrion was a guest worthy of honour. The luncheon, though simple, was excellent, and they both enjoyed it to the full. A modest bottle of claret with the cheese just unloosed their tongues, and when Diarmid had left them Neil looked across the table very earnestly at Mackinnon’s face. "I don’t suppose it will come as a very great surprise to you, Malcolm." "What?" asked Malcolm with a start. "About Isla." "What about her? You saw her, of course. I didn’t like to harry you with questions, but I suppose she’s all right with Lady Betty. She has never written. I have managed, somehow, to commit the unpardonable sin where Isla is concerned. I’m sorry, but there isn’t anything I can do now but wait her pleasure. You see it was she who cut the knot, so to speak." Neil nodded as he crumbled the biscuit on his plate. "I don’t know whether you know, Malcolm, that I have always wanted Isla. I’ve asked her to marry me on the average about twice a year for the last three or four years. Last year, I believe, I asked her six times." "Such persistence deserves its reward, and I hope you’ve got it, old chap," said Malcolm, but his tone lacked warmth. He could not understand the man who wanted Isla. To him she seemed lacking in most, if not all, of the qualities which make a woman desirable. "She has said ’Yes’ at last, Malcolm, and that’s why I am here to-day," said Neil. And his hand trembled ever so slightly as it rested on the sheer white of the tablecloth. "Well, and what’s going to happen next?" said Malcolm with a curious dry note in his voice. "I’m glad, of course. It--it’s a mighty relief to me to hear that anything is likely to anchor Isla or settle her. Though nobody may have given me credit for it, Neil, I’ve had many a bad hour--ay, and day--about her up here."