"I'm sorry," I said, as gently as I could--"very sorry that you are
ill. Perhaps the doctors may be mistaken. They are not always
infallible. Many of their doomed patients have recovered in spite of
their verdict. And--as you and Miss Harland wish it so much--I will
certainly come."

His frowning face lightened, and for a moment looked almost kind.

"That's right!" he said--"The fresh air and the sea will do you
good. As for ourselves, sickly people though we are, we shall not
obtrude our ailments upon your attention. At least _I_ shall not.
Catherine may--she has got into an unfortunate habit of talking
about her aches and pains, and if her acquaintances have no aches
and pains to discuss with her she is at a loss for conversation.
However, we shall do our best to make the time go easily with you.
There will be no other company on board--except my private secretary
and my attendant physician,--both decent fellows who know their
place and keep it."

The hard look settled again in his eyes, and his ugly mouth closed
firmly in its usual cruel line. My subconscious dislike of him gave
me a sharp thrust of regret that, after all, I had accepted his
invitation.

"I was going to Scotland for a change,"--I murmured, hesitatingly.

"Were you? Then our plans coincide. We join the yacht at Rothesay--
you can meet us there. I propose a cruise among the Western isles--
the Hebrides--and possibly on to Norway and its fjords. What do you
say?"