Pamela nodded.  “Nothing appeals to you so much as family affection, Jean, girl.  What have you got now, Biddy? Nelly’s Teachers?”

“Oh, that,” said Jean, getting pink—­“that’s a book I had when I was a child, and I still like it so much that I read it through every year.”

“Oh, Jean, you babe!” Pamela cried.  “Can you actually still read goody-goody girls’ stories?”

“Yes,” said Jean defiantly, “and enjoy them too.”

“And why not?” asked Lord Bidborough.  “I enjoy Huckleberry Finn as much now as I did when I was twelve; and I often yearn after the books I had as a boy and never see now.  I used to lie on my face poring over them. The Clipper of the Clouds, and Sir Ludar, and a fairy story called Rigmarole in Search of a Soul, which, I remember, was quite beautiful, but can’t lay hands on anywhere.”

Jean looked at him gratefully, and thought to herself that he wasn’t going to be a terrifying person after all.  For his age—­Jean knew that he was thirty-five, and had expected something much more mature—­he seemed oddly boyish.  He had an expectant young look in his eyes, as if he were always waiting for some chance of adventure to turn up, and there were humorous lines about his mouth which seemed to say that he found the world a very funny place, and was exceedingly well amused.

He certainly seemed very much at home at The Rigs, fondling the rare old books with the hands of a book lover, inspecting the coloured prints, chaffing Jock and Mhor, who fawned round him like two puppy dogs.  Peter had at once made friends with him, and Mrs. M’Cosh, coming into the room on some errand, edged her way out backwards, her eyes fixed on the newcomer with an approving stare.  As she told Jean later:  “For a’ Andra pit me against lords, I canna see muckle wrang wi’ this yin.  A rale pleasant fellow I tak’ him to be, lord or no lord.  If they were a’ like him, we wudna need to be Socialists.  It’s queer I’ve aye hed a hankerin’ after thae high-born kinna folk.  It’s that interestin’ to watch them.  Ye niver ken whit they’ll dae next, or whit they’ll say—­they’re that audacious.  We wud mak’ an awfu’ dull warld o’ it if we pit them a’ awa to Ameriky or somewhere.  I often tell’t Andra that, but he said it wud be a guid riddance ...  I’m wonderin’ what Bella Bathgate thinks o’ him.  It’ll be great to hear her breath on’t.  She’s quite comin’ roond to Miss Reston.  She was tellin’ me she disna think there’s onything veecious about her, and she’s gettin’ quite used to her manners.”

* * * * *

When Pamela departed with her brother to partake of a dinner cooked by Miss Bathgate (a somewhat doubtful pleasure), Mhor went off to bed, and Jock curled himself up on the sofa with Peter, for his Friday night’s extra hour with a story-book, while Jean resumed her darning of stockings.