“I will get up at once, Merat, and do you look out a train, or ask the butler to look out one for you; we are going to Glasgow by the first quick train.”

“But I thought Mademoiselle was going to stay here till Monday.”

“Yes, Merat, I know, so did I; but I have changed my mind.  You had better begin to pack at once, for there is certain to be a train about twelve.”

Evelyn saw that the devoted Merat was annoyed; as well she might be, for Thornton Grange was a pleasant house for valets and lady’s maids.  “Some new valet,” Evelyn thought, and she was sorry to drag Merat away from him, for Merat’s sins were her own—­no one was answerable for another; there was always that in her mind; and what applied to her did not apply to anybody else.

“Dear Lady Ascott, you’ll forgive me?” she said during breakfast, “but I have to go to Glasgow this afternoon.  I am obliged to leave by an early train.”

“Sir Owen, will you try to persuade her?  Get her some omelette, and I will pour out some coffee.  Which will you have, dear?  Tea or coffee?  Everybody will be so disappointed; we have all been looking forward to some singing to-night.”

Expostulations and suggestions went round the table, and Evelyn was glad when breakfast was over; and to escape from all this company, she accepted Owen’s proposal to go for a walk.

“You haven’t seen my garden, or the cliffs?  Sir Owen, I count upon you to persuade her to stay until to-morrow, and you will show her the glen, won’t you?  And you’ll tell me how many trees we have lost in last night’s storm.”

Owen and Evelyn left the other guests talking of how they had lain awake last night listening to the wind.

“Shall we go this way, round by the lake, towards the glen?  Lady Ascott is very disappointed; she said so to me just now.”

“You mean about my leaving?”

“Yes, of course, after all she had done for you, the trouble she had taken about the Edinburgh concert.  Of course they all like to hear you sing; they may not understand very well, still they like it, everybody likes to hear a soprano.  You might stay.”

“I’m very sorry, Owen, I’m sorry to disappoint Lady Ascott, who is a kindly soul, but—­well, it raises the whole question up again.  When one has made up one’s mind to live a certain kind of life—­”

“But, Evelyn, who is preventing you from living up to your ideal?  The people here don’t interfere with you?  Nobody came knocking at your door last night?”

“No.”

“I didn’t come, and I was next door to you.  Didn’t it seem strange to you, Evelyn, that I should sleep so near and not come to say good-night?  But I knew you wouldn’t like it, so I resisted the temptation.”

“Was that the only reason?”

“What do you mean?”

“Of course, I know you wouldn’t do anything that would displease me; you’ve been very kind, more kind than I deserve, but—­”