He led them through the panelled hall, down a long passage hung with sporting prints, into what was evidently a much-liked and much-used room.

Books were everywhere, lining the walls, lying in heaps on tables, some even piled on the floor, but a determined effort had evidently been made to tidy things a little, for papers had been collected into bundles, pipes had been thrust into corners, and bowls of chrysanthemums stood about to sweeten the tobacco-laden atmosphere.

A large fire burned on the hearth, and Lewis pulled up some masculine-looking arm-chairs and asked the ladies to sit in them, but Jean along with Jock and Mhor were already engrossed in books, and their neglected host looked at them with disgust.

“Such are the primitive manners of the Jardine family,” he said to Pamela.  “If you want a word out of them you must lock up all printed matter before they approach.  Thank goodness, that’s the gong!  They can’t read while they’re feeding.”

“Honourable,” said Mhor, as they ate their excellent luncheon.  “Isn’t Laverlaw a lovely place?”

Pamela agreed.  “I never saw anything so indescribably green.  It wears the fairy livery.  I can easily picture True Thomas walking by that stream.”

“Long ago,” said Jock in his gruff voice, “there was a keep at Laverlaw instead of a house, and Cousin Lewis’ ancestors stole cattle from England, and there were some fine fights in this glen.  Laverlaw Water would run red with blood.”

“Jock,” Jean protested, “you needn’t say it with such relish.”

Pamela turned to her host.

“Priorsford seems to think you find yourself almost too contented at Laverlaw.  Mrs. Hope says you are absorbed in sheep.”

Lewis Elliot looked amused.  “I can imagine the scorn Mrs. Hope put into her voice as she said ‘sheep.’  But one must be absorbed in something—­why not sheep?”

“I like a sheep,” said Jock, and he quoted: 

  “’Its conversation is not deep,
    But then, observe its face.’”

“You may be surprised to hear,” said Lewis, “that sheep are almost like fine ladies in their ways:  they have megrims, it appears.  I found one the other day lying on the hill more or less dead to the world, and I went a mile or two out of my way to tell the shepherd.  All he said was, ‘I ken that yowe.  She aye comes ower dwamy in an east wind.’ ...  But tell me, Jean, how is Miss Reston conducting herself in Priorsford?”

“With the greatest propriety, I assure you,” Pamela replied for herself.  “Aren’t I, Jean?  I have dined with Mrs. Duff-Whalley and been introduced to ‘the County.’  You were regrettably absent from that august gathering, I seem to remember.  I have lunched with the Jowetts, and left the table without a stain either on the cloth or my character, but it was a great nervous strain.  I thought of you, Jock, old man, and deeply sympathised with your experience.  I have been to quite a lot of tea-parties, and I have given one or two.  Indeed, I am becoming as absorbed in Priorsford as you are in sheep.”