"Let us strike a truce!"--he said--"I promise not to try and 'draw'
you any more! But please do not isolate yourself from us,--try to
feel that we are your friends. I want you to enjoy this trip if
possible,--but I fear that we are proving rather dull company for
you. We are making for Skye at good speed and shall probably anchor
in Loch Scavaig to-night. To-morrow we might land and do the
excursion to Loch Coruisk if you care for that, though Catherine is
not a good walker."

I felt rather remorseful as he said these words in a kindly tone.
Yet I knew very well that, notwithstanding all the strenuous efforts
which might be made by the rules of conventional courtesy, it would
be impossible for me to feel quite at home in the surroundings which
he had created for himself. I inwardly resolved, however, to make
the best of it and to try and steer clear of any possibilities or
incidents which might tend to draw the line of demarcation too
strongly between us. Some instinct told me that present conditions
were not to remain as they were, so I answered my host gently and
assured him of my entire willingness to fall in with any of his
plans. Our conversation then gradually drifted into ordinary topics
till towards sunset, when I went down to my cabin to dress for
dinner. I had a fancy to wear the bunch of pink bell-heather that
still kept its fresh and waxen-looking delicacy of bloom, and this,
fastened in the lace of my white gown, was my only adornment.

That night there was a distinct attempt on everybody's part to make
things sociable and pleasant. Catherine Harland was, for once, quite
cheerful and chatty, and proposed that as there was a lovely
moonlight, we should all go after dinner into the deck saloon, where
there was a piano, and that I should sing for them. I was rather