bly safe and reasonably happy, and entirely
out of her way (even temporarily out of her way), Barbara did not much
mind about anything else. She had wanted to punish Somerled a little for
his indifference, past and present, to her (almost) irresistible self:
but she _had_ punished him, and it had been great fun, and she was tired
of bothering. Her sense of humour, a saving grace of hers, was tickled
by his persistence, and this unexpected coup at Ballachulish with the
MacDonalds. She could not help chuckling when she thought how Aline (it
had been mostly Aline) had maneuvered to throw that poor pretty child
into Basil's arms; and how, just as she seemed on the point of
succeeding, down swooped Somerled like a golden eagle of the mountains
to snap the prey out of his rival's mouth. Barbara would have preferred
that her daughter should marry Basil, since she must marry somebody to
be got rid of, being so _dreadfully_ in the way, poor pet! But luckily
Morgan Bennett had at last said what Barbara wanted him to say. He had
meant all along, no doubt, to say it--unless he had wavered from his
true allegiance a little on that perilous evening when he first saw
Barrie at the theatre. Barbara was safely engaged to him now; and though
she had had to tell him that "dear little sister Barrie" would probably
marry Basil Norman, she had only said "probably." She couldn't answer
for the creature--one never could for anybody.

"How _like_ Somerled!" she gurgled, as Aline sat speechless, with the
telegram in her hand. "Now we know where he's been. He went to London
and collected the MacDonald family, when all else had failed. He must be
making it well worth their while, for they hate their native wilds. But
then--London in _August_! I suppose they welcomed any change. My poor
dear, I _am_ sorry if you're fond of him, but this does look as if
Somerled were tremendously in earnest. And if he is, I don't think you
and I are capable of coping with him. We must let things shape
themselves, I'm afraid."

Aline's eyes, well again now, sent out a flash such as Basil knew.
"You're not going to fail me, are you?" she exclaimed. Her impulse was
to add shrilly, "Now that you've made your own market, and don't care a
rap what happens to any one else!" As she was Mrs. Bal's guest still,
and had been royally entertained, she sacrificed the momentary
satisfaction. Besides, this was the last moment in which it would be
safe to offend Mrs. Bal.

"Fail