He bent low over her white, outstretched hand and murmured certain words which somewhat heightened Sadie’s colour and brought an odd softness to her eyes. "I like that man, Vivien. He’s perfectly lovely, I think, and all the things they say about him in the Glen are lies. Don’t you think so?" But Vivien, whom sad experience had made wise, answered not at all. CHAPTER IX THE MESSENGER As Malcolm strode up the Glenogle road a little later, well pleased with his day’s achievement, he was overtaken by a smart drag and a pair of swift roan horses handled by Drummond of Garrion, whose sister Kitty was by his side. Neil drew up of course, and there was an odd look on his face as the greeting passed. Malcolm’s manner was perfectly cool, even a little defiant. It would certainly have been better had Isla held her tongue, but he was not going to eat humble pie before that big, sheep-faced boy who had nothing but his money to recommend him. He took off his cap to Kitty, however, who smiled sweetly upon him. "We’re going to Creagh--no, not to call on you, Malcolm, so don’t think it. We only wanted to know whether Isla had come back." "We returned last night," he answered. "Well I’ll see you later." "Nonsense. You’ll get up, Mackinnon," said Drummond so shortly that Kitty turned reproachful eyes on him. There were heaps of stories about Malcolm in the glens, but after all, nothing had been proved against him. And, anyhow, it was not the province of friendship to turn a cold shoulder. "I’d walk, Malcolm, if I were you. Wait a moment, and I’ll get down to convoy you." "No you don’t, my lass," said Drummond firmly. "Get up, Mackinnon. The brutes won’t stand--you see how fresh they are." Malcolm did not hesitate longer. It was three good miles to Creagh yet, and a man doesn’t walk so easily after a good meal as before it. He swung himself to the back seat and settled himself so that he could talk to both, but chiefly into the ear of Kitty, whose looks, he decided, had improved. "Neil’s manners, as I dare say you have observed, have not improved of late," said Kitty airily. "He has been such a bear to-day that I am forced to the conclusion that he must have something on his conscience." Malcolm laughed. "If it comes to that we’ve all got something on our consciences--more or less," he answered gaily. "Don’t let it put you down on your luck too much, old chap. It’s good policy to wait till the clouds roll by." As to what Neil thought of him Malcolm did not care a fig, but he wished to stand well with Kitty, having proved that women were generally a man’s best friends and would champion him, often against their better judgment. It was a favourite jest with him that he would prefer a court martial of women to anything in this world, and that he would never despair of getting off.