rposely walked out in the garden with the father,
Gray and Ailsa presently followed them without lingering or undue
precipitation, and with no change of voice or manner. The consul was
perplexed. Had the girl already told Gray of her lover across the sea,
and was this singular restraint their joint acceptance of their fate;
or was he mistaken in supposing that their relations were anything more
than the simple friendship of patron and protegee? Gray was rich enough
to indulge in such a fancy, and the father and daughter were too proud
to ever allow it to influence their own independence. In any event the
consul's right to divulge the secret he was accidentally possessed
of seemed more questionable than ever. Nor did there appear to be any
opportunity for a confidential talk with Gray, since it was proposed
that the whole party should return to the yacht for supper, after
which the consul should be dropped at the pier-head, distant only a few
minutes from his hotel, and his horse sent to him the next day.

A faint moon was shimmering along the surface of Loch Dour in icy little
ripples when they pulled out from the shadows of the hillside. By the
accident of position, Gray, who was steering, sat beside Ailsa in the
stern, while the consul and Mr. Callender were further forward, although
within hearing. The faces of the young people were turned towards each
other, yet in the cold moonlight the consul fancied they looked as
impassive and unemotional as statues. The few distant, far-spaced lights
that trembled on the fading shore, the lonely glitter of the water,
the blackness of the pine-clad ravines seemed to be a part of this
repression, until the vast melancholy of the lake appeared to meet and
overflow them like an advancing tide. Added to this, there came from
time to time the faint sound and smell of the distant, desolate sea.

The consul, struggling manfully to keep up a spasmodic discussion on
Scotch diminutives in names, found himself mechanically saying:

"And James you call Jamie?"

"Ay; but ye would say, to be pure Scotch, 'Hamish,'" said Mr. Callender
precisely. The girl, however, had not spoken; but Gray turned to her
with something of his old gayety.

"And I suppose you would call me 'Robbie'?"

"Ah, no!"

"What then?"

"Robin."

Her voice was low yet distinct, but she had thrown into the two
syllables such infinite tenderness, that the consul was for an instant
struck with an embarrassment akin t