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Those little black satin bags hold their work, and I expect they have each a handkerchief edged with Honiton lace and scented with White Rose. Probably they are going to Mrs. Henderson's. She gives wonderful teas, and they will be taken to a bedroom to take off their outer coverings, and they'll stay till about eight o'clock and then go home to supper." Lord Bidborough laughed.
"It's a wee Shakespeare to send to Mrs. M'Cosh and I've got a card for Bella Bathgate a funny one, a pig. Read it." He handed the card to Lord Bidborough, who read aloud the words issuing from the mouth of the pig: "You may push me, You may shove, But I never will be druv From Stratford-on-Avon." "Excellent sentiment, Mhor Miss Bathgate will be pleased." "Yes," said Mhor complacently.
A dressing-bag and a fur-coat and a pile of books and magazines lay on the opposite seat, and the lodger sat writing busily. An envelope lay beside her addressed to THE LORD BIDBOROUGH, c/o KING, KING, & Co., BOMBAY. Your idea of living was to range over the world in search of sport, mine to amuse myself well, to shine, to be admired.
The 'tedious brief' scene was drawing to an end, when the door opened and Mrs. M'Cosh, with a scared look in her eyes and an excited squeak in her voice, announced, "Lord Bidborough." A slim, dark young man stood in the doorway, regarding the dishevelled room.
Jowett were wise and experienced, but they were old. In Lord Bidborough he found one who had come hot foot from the ends of the earth. He had seen with his own eyes, and he could tell Jock tales that made the coveted far lands live before him; and Jock fell down and worshipped.
"And now your voice sounds as if you did think me a prig ... Here we are at last, and I simply don't know what to say kept us." "Don't say anything: leave it to me. I'll be sure to think of some lie. Do you realise that we are only ten minutes behind the others?" "Is that all?" cried Jean, amazed. "It seems like hours." Lord Bidborough began to laugh helplessly.
"And oh, Jean," cried Mhor, "it's the very one that came to Priorsford!" "Take a start, Mhor," said Jock, "and I'll race you back." Lord Bidborough and Jean walked on in silence. At the garden where once had stood New Place that "pretty house in brick and timber" the shadow of the Norman church lay black on the white street and beyond it was the velvet darkness of the old trees.
They had reached the entrance to Hopetoun: the avenue to the house was short. "Would you mind," said Lord Bidborough, "walking on with me for a little bit?..." "But why?" asked Jean, looking along the dark, uninviting road. "They'll wonder what's become of us, and tea will be ready, and Mrs. Hope doesn't like to be kept waiting." "Never mind," said Lord Bidborough, his tone somewhat desperate.
Your doings have always been on such a big scale climbing the highest mountains in the world, going to the very farthest places that the tiny and the trivial ought to be rather fascinating by contrast." Lord Bidborough admitted that it was so, and silence fell between them.
Some of the village women, with little girls in clean pinafores clinging to their skirts, came shyly in after them and sat down at the door. Lord Bidborough, waiting for his bride, saw her come through the doorway winged like Mercury, smiling back at the children following ... then her eyes met his. The first thing that Jean became aware of was that Mr. Macdonald was reading her own chapter.
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