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Updated: May 31, 2025
Jean could see him so clearly, listening, smiling, with lazy, amused eyes. By now he must be thankful that the penny-plain girl at Priorsford had not snatched at the offer he had made her, but had had the sense to send him away. It must have been a sudden madness on his part.
Most of the smaller houses in Priorsford were very much of one pattern and all fairly recently built, but there was one old house, an odd little rough stone cottage, standing at the end of a row of villas, its back turned to its parvenu neighbours, its eyes lifted to the hills. This little house was called The Rigs. It was a queer little house, and a queer little family lived in it.
"Priorsford will be horrified," said Jean. "They aren't used to such indecorous haste, and oh, Biddy, I couldn't be married without Mr. Macdonald." "I was thinking about that. He certainly has the right to be at your wedding. If I wired to-day, do you think they would come? Mrs. Macdonald's such a sportsman, I believe she would hustle the minister and herself off at once."
"What a lovely sound Lowland Scots has," said Pamela. "I like to hear you speak it. Tell me about Mrs. Hope, Jean. I do hope we shall see her alone. I don't like Priorsford tea-parties; they are rather like a foretaste of eternal punishment. With no choice you are dumped down beside the most irrelevant sort of person, and there you remain. I went to return Mrs.
Her brother smiled and shook his head, and after a minute he said: "A garden enclosed is my love." "What's to be said to him, lady? He is fortified against any denial." Twelfth Night. The day before Pamela and her brother left Priorsford for their visit to Champertoun was a typical December day, short and dark and dirty.
Or are you merely being charitable? I don't know anything duller than your charitable person who always says the kind thing." Jean laughed. "I'm sorry, but I'm afraid the Priorsford people are all more or less nice. At least, they seem so to me, but perhaps I'm not very discriminating. You will tell me what you think of them when you meet them.
I love the shops and the kind, interested way the shopkeepers serve one: I have shopped in most European cities, but I never realised the full delight of shopping till I came to Priorsford. You can't think what fun it is to order in all your own meals, to decide whether you will have a 'finnan-haddie' or a 'kipper' for breakfast much more exciting than ordering a ball gown.
And here was Miss Reston looking lovely and exotic in a wonderful tea-frock, a class of garment hitherto unknown to the Miss Watsons, who thrilled at the sight. Her welcome was so warm that it seemed to the guests, accustomed to the thus-far-and-no-further manner of the Priorsford great ladies, almost exuberant.
Jock and Mhor looked back on the time Lord Bidborough spent in Priorsford as one long, rosy dream.
"A man in his prime," said Peter Reid. "That's pretty old, isn't it?" said Jean "about sixty, I think. Of course," hastily, "sixty isn't really old. When I'm sixty if I'm spared I expect I shall feel myself good for another twenty years." "I thought I was," said Peter Reid, "until I broke down." "Oh, but a rest at Priorsford will put you all right." Could he afford a holiday? she wondered.
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