She plunged into her dressing with a will. When she got down to the dining-room she found Malcolm in a tweed knicker-bocker suit, discussing the Loch trout that had been sent up from the hotel with Miss Macdougall’s compliments. "I’m surprised at you, Isla. I thought you would have been down at six anyway, giving us all points," he said gaily. "I’ve been up for two hours and a half and had a tramp across the Moor. It was glorious. Seen father?" "Yes, he’s just waking up after a good night" "He doesn’t come down to breakfast?" "No. Diarmid is taking it to him now." She passed round to her place at the tray, and Malcolm admired her trim figure with its slender, well-belted waist, the poise of her head, the glint of her hair, and the clear red-and-white of her complexion. "You look better here than you did in London, Isla. London doesn’t suit you, and that old black frock you had on at Aunt Jean’s in the evening was an unbecoming rag, if you’ll excuse me for saying it. You could wear vivid colours. I’d like to see you in emerald green--shimmery soft stuff, don’t you know?--with trailing draperies round you?" Isla laughed outright. "I’m afraid the chances of that are small. The old black rag has been my only evening frock since you went away, and I believe I’ve had it on only about half a dozen times." "Poor old girl, what a shame that it can’t get pretty clothes! Now, if I were you I’d have them. By Jove, I would, and let pay who will." "Yes, I know," she answered quietly. "But I’ve got into the habit of paying for my clothes before I wear them. Well, what are you going to do to-day?" "Well, the first thing undoubtedly is to rig up a horse and trap of some kind. I’ll go down to Lochearn presently--on my feet, that haven’t done much walking of late, you bet, and see whether Miss Macdougall can fix me up. It’s quite obvious that Creagh isn’t livable in unless one is provided with some means of escape from it. What about the post? Do the old primitive arrangements still hold good?--half the day gone before the bag comes in?" "It’s half-past twelve before the postman gets here. I generally walk as far as Little Shuan to meet him." "I’ll get farther than that this morning--probably all the way," he said. "What are you to be about? I suppose you have things to see to in the house after having been away?" "Yes," said Isla. "I want you to be careful about the letters while you are here, Malcolm. There are only some my father cares to see, and even these do not always interest him. But he has gleams of comprehension and of most disconcerting clearness of vision. Dr. Blair says it is most imperative that he should not have a shock of any kind, however small, and in the last year I have been keeping almost everything back from him. He grasps one bit of a thing, you see, and confuses the rest, and so might very easily work himself up into a state about nothing."