There was a small collection on the mantelpiece, framed in ebony and standing on little brass tripods--very exquisite things in their way, and part of the few remaining treasures of Achree. Rosmead was studying them intently, and his sister was examining with interest the various bits of old needlework in the room, when the door was opened by rather a quick, nervous hand, and some one came in. Rosmead turned back from the mantelpiece, and Sadie dropped the cushion with the peacock sewn upon its cover, and turned with a charming smile. "Don’t be angry, Miss Mackinnon. We are not sampling anything, but we are Americans--don’t you know--and everything in this lovely old house appeals to us. You are Miss Mackinnon, aren’t you? I’m Sadie Rosmead, and this is my brother Peter." It was charmingly done, and it brought a slight smile, in spite of herself, to Isla’s parted lips. She had been walking very fast, and the colour was high in her cheek. Her jacket was thrown back to show the neat flannel shirt belted trimly to her waist, and the black tie held in its place by the silver brooch, curiously wrought and displaying the arms of the Mackinnons, the same design being repeated in the buckle of her belt. "I am so sorry you have been kept waiting. I was at the other side of the wood, seeing a sick woman. How-do-you-do?" She shook hands with Sadie, but it was at the brother that she looked. And she was well pleased with what she saw. She was not concerned at all about the impression she might be making on them. The only thing that mattered was that the people who were coming to Achree should not be objectionable. Just for a moment she had been a trifle dismayed by Miss Rosmead’s very obvious nationality--by the twang in her voice and by the familiarity of her manner. Isla’s own manner inclined to hauteur. She fought against it, for the person who has goods to sell cannot afford to be too high and mighty in procedure. Yet she carried herself, in spite of her efforts to the contrary, like one who had a favour to bestow. An intensely good-natured person, overflowing with the milk of human kindness, Sadie Rosmead did not even notice this characteristic manner, but not a shade of it was lost on Rosmead himself. It did not, however, either irritate or repel him. He had an immense gift of understanding, and he knew what this interview meant to the girl before them, whose face, now that the little flush of excitement had died from it, was pale, and even a little haggard. "I am sorry you did not let me know, so that you could have been met at the station and could have come to luncheon. Have you had any?"