She left the room, and for a while I stood by the window staring out into the night. Was it my imagination, or did I see the head-lights of a car coming over the pass in the distance? He would have to come that way if he’d crossed from Kyle to Lochalsh.... But they had vanished again, and I couldn’t remember if the road dipped behind a rise there or not.... "Do you often go to London, Doctor Morton?" The invalid’s voice was a little stronger, and I crossed to the bed. "Very often, Mrs. MacDerry," I answered. "In fact, except when I’m abroad, I generally live there. At the moment I’ve come up here to work...." "Ah! I see." ... She smiled faintly. "I haven’t been to London for over twenty years. I haven’t left Skye for over twenty years.... I suppose it’s changed a lot...." "Yes—I think you’d find it different to twenty years ago.... Motors everywhere instead of hansoms...." "I’ve never been in a motor-car," she said, still with the same sweet smile. "I’ve been buried, doctor—just buried...." "You could not have chosen a lovelier tomb," I answered, gently; and she nodded her head. "Those are three delightful Corots you have downstairs," I continued after a moment. "I was admiring them before I came up...." She looked at me quickly. "You know about such things, do you?" "I’m a collector myself in a mild way," I answered. "They belong to my husband," she said, abruptly; and once more closed her eyes. "Tell me, doctor," she continued after a while, "what is happening in London?" "The usual things, Mrs. MacDerry.... In that respect I don’t think there is much change since you were there. The world dances and goes to theatres as ever...." "But is there no big event," she persisted, "in the season this year? ... No big ball ... or ... or marriage?" "Why, yes," I answered, "there’s a big marriage.... It’s just taken place...." And though I saw those two fragile hands clenched tight, no suspicion dawned on me as I spoke. "Lord Fingarton’s only son has just married the Duke of Sussex’s youngest daughter...." "And what do they say of Lord Fingarton’s only son?" she demanded. "Is he a worthy successor of his father?" "They say that he’s a good lad," I answered. "I thought so myself when I spoke to him the other night...." "You spoke to him?" she cried. "Tell me about him—everything you can...." And still I did not suspect.... I told her of the boy; I sketched him for her to the best of my ability, and she listened eagerly. And then when I had finished, something—I know not what—made me add one sentence for which, till my dying day, I shall be thankful. "There is only one criticism," I said, "which I can make. And that was given by a man who knew the first Lady Fingarton well. Good though this boy is—he is not _quite_ so good as the one who died...." "Who was the man who said that?" she whispered, breathlessly.