She thought again with a little, faint, passing sight of envy of the gallant boy whom the Edens had given to their country, who had died a hero’s death upon the field. She told herself that had such a fate been Malcolm’s she could have thanked God for it. Then she drew herself up with a little shudder, remembering sharply certain Bible words which had no uncertain sound--"Whoso hateth his brother is a murderer." She did not hate him--only her heart was very tired and full of fear for the future. That night, at the hospitable table of his uncle in Belgrave Square, Malcolm shone with the best of them. He was on his mettle, and he exerted himself to please, showing a nice deference to his stately aunt as well as to his jolly uncle, and he made himself perfectly adorable to his cousins. Isla felt herself quite put in the background, but she did not mind. It was even a relief not to think, but just to sit still and let Malcolm’s false light shine. Soon enough they would have to know what had happened, and then she knew that her Aunt Jean would never forgive him. She came into Isla’s room that night when the girl was brushing her hair, and, touched by the expression on her face, put a kindly question. "What is it, dear child? Don’t you feel very well? You haven’t looked like yourself all day." "I’m all right, Aunt Jean," Isla answered, but she did not meet her aunt’s eyes. "Malcolm is simply splendid! How improved he is! What charming manners! After all, the Army is the place for boys like Malcolm. Do you remember what an anxiety he used to be to your father in the old days? How proud of him he must be now!" Isla did not answer--she simply could not. She felt as if she must scream out loud. "Your uncle is delighted. They’ve been having a long talk in the smoking-room. Must you really hurry away on Friday, dear? We should simply love to have you and Malcolm for another week. I could get up a little dance for Malcolm. That sort of impromptu affair is often most enjoyable and it really seems a shame to go and bury him in Achree, or rather in Creagh, for so long." "I can’t stop, Aunt Jean. You know how father is. He is really quite frail, and I should not have an easy mind after Friday, but Malcolm can stop if he likes." "I must ask him. How long has he, do you know?" "You can ask him that, too, Aunt Jean," answered Ida very low. "He isn’t at all pleased about the letting of Achree. From his point of view, it does seem a little hard. Why did you do it, Isla, when you knew he was coming home this year? Surely it could have waited at least till the autumn." "It couldn’t wait. We had no money to go on with, Aunt Jean," answered Isla. "Oh but, my dear, your uncle or I would have come to the rescue. What are folk for if they can’t be made use of in that direction?" asked Lady Mackinnon almost playfully.