, then?"

"No-o. But you're a man. I'm afraid of women. They stare at your
clothes, and I know mine are horrid."

"Mrs. West won't stare. She'll help you buy pretty things to wear when
you go to your mother."

"Will she? But how shall I buy them? I haven't any money."

"You'll have money from your father's brooch. Now--will you trust me and
come to Mrs. Keeling's house, as your grandmother bows to her?"

"I'd rather go to a hotel, thank you."

"Nonsense. You can't go alone to a hotel."

"Why?"

"It wouldn't be proper for Miss MacDonald of Dhrum."

"Now you talk like Grandma!"

"I talk common sense. I'll lend you no money to spend in a hotel."

"Then take me to Mrs. West," the girl said, as she might have said,
"Take me to the scaffold."

Somerled laughed with amusement and triumph. He was astonishingly
interested in his adventure, astonishingly pleased at the prospect of
continuing it. Surely this girl was unique! He believed in comparatively
few things, but he believed in her: for not to do so would have been
indeed ungrateful, as she was ready to prove her implicit belief in him.

"A daughter of Mrs. Bal!" he said to himself as he led Mrs. Bal's
daughter to his motor-car.

Poor Barrie would have believed in almost any man who owned a motor.

IV

Aline West and her brother, Basil Norman, were walking slowly up and
down the garden path in front of the old-fashioned manor farmhouse lent
to them for ten days by an admiring friend. They were waiting for
Somerled, who had expressed a desire not to be met at the station; and
listening for the teuf-teuf of motors along the distant road prevented
Mrs. West from attending to her brother's suggestions. He had had an
inspiration for the new novel they were planning together, and was
explaining it eagerly, for Basil was a born story-teller. Only, he had
never found time for story-telling until lately. He was tremendously
happy in his new way of life, although only a terrible illness which had
closed others paths of success had opened this door for him. It did not
matter in the least that Aline got the credit. Not only was he glad that
she should have praise, but he was convinced that it ought to be hers.
If she had not thought of asking him to try his hand at helping her four
years ago, when the incentive to live seemed gone, he might have been
driven to put himself out of the way. It was to her, therefore, that he
owed everything; and though success as