* * * * *

The hotel cart going down to Laggan for supplies at midday brought Anderson his answer: 

“DEAR MR. ANDERSON—­Your letter gave me great concern.  I deeply sympathise with your situation.  As far as I am concerned, I must necessarily look at the matter entirely from the point of view of my fellow-travellers.  Lady Merton must not be distressed or molested.  So long, however, as this is secured, I shall not feel myself at liberty to reveal a private matter which has accidentally come to my knowledge.  I understand, of course, that your father will not attempt any further communication with me, and I propose to treat the interview as though it had not happened.

“I will give Lady Merton your message.  It seems to me doubtful whether she will be ready for excursions next week.  But you are no doubt aware that the hotel makes what are apparently very excellent and complete arrangements for such things.  I am sure Lady Merton would be sorry to give you avoidable trouble.  However, we shall see you to-morrow, and shall of course be very glad of your counsels.

     “Yours faithfully,

     “ARTHUR MANDEVILLE DELAINE.”

Anderson’s fair skin flushed scarlet as he read this letter.  He thrust it into his pocket and continued to pace up and down in the patch of half-cleared ground at the back of the Ginnells’ house.  He perfectly understood that Delaine’s letter was meant to warn him not to be too officious in Lady Merton’s service.  “Don’t suppose yourself indispensable—­and don’t at any time forget your undesirable antecedents, and compromising situation.  On those conditions, I hold my tongue.”

“Pompous ass!” Anderson found it a hard task to keep his own pride in check.  It was of a different variety from Delaine’s, but not a whit less clamorous.  Yet for Lady Merton’s sake it was desirable, perhaps imperative, that he should keep on civil terms with this member of her party.  A hot impulse swept through him to tell her everything, to have done with secrecy.  But he stifled it.  What right had he to intrude his personal history upon her?—­least of all this ugly and unsavoury development of it?  Pride spoke again, and self-respect.  If it humiliated him to feel himself in Delaine’s power, he must bear it.  The only other alternatives were either to cut himself off at once from his English friends—­that, of course, was what Delaine wished—­or to appeal to Lady Merton’s sympathy and pity.  Well, he would do neither—­and Delaine might go hang!

Mrs. Ginnell, with her apron over her head to shield her from a blazing sun, appeared at the corner of the house.

“You’re wanted, sir!” Her tone was sulky.

“Anything wrong?” Anderson turned apprehensively.

“Nothing more than ’is temper, sir.  He won’t let yer rest, do what you will for ’im.”

Anderson went into the house.  His father was sitting up in bed.  Mrs. Ginnell had been endeavouring during the past hour to make her patient clean and comfortable, and to tidy his room; but had been at last obliged to desist, owing to the mixture of ill-humour and bad language with which he assailed her.