“You know it is simply because Sir Keith Macleod is coming to lunch.  I forgot all about it.  Oh, and that’s why you had the clean curtains put up yesterday?”

What else had this precocious brain ferreted out?

“Yes, and that’s why you bought papa a new necktie,” continued the tormenter; and then she added, triumphantly, “But he hasn’t put it on this morning, ha—­Gerty?”

A calm and dignified silence is the best answer to the fiendishness of thirteen.  Miss White went on with the making of the salad-dressing.  She was considered very clever at it.  Her father had taught her:  but he never had the patience to carry out his own precepts.  Besides, brute force is not wanted for the work:  what you want is the self-denying assiduity and the dexterous light-handedness of a woman.

A smart young maid-servant, very trimly dressed, made her appearance.

“Sir Keith Macleod, miss,” said she.

“Oh, Gerty, you’re caught!” muttered the fiend.

But Miss White was equal to the occasion.  The small white fingers plied the fork without a tremor.

“Ask him to step this way, please,” she said.

And then the subtle imagination of this demon of thirteen jumped to another conclusion.

“Oh, Gerty, you want to show him that you are a good housekeeper—­that you can make salad—­”

But the imp was silenced by the appearance of Macleod himself.  He looked tall as he came through the small drawing-room.  When he came out onto the balcony the languid air of the place seemed to acquire a fresh and brisk vitality:  he had a bright smile and a resonant voice.

“I have taken the liberty of bringing you a little present, Miss White—­no, it is a large present—­that reached me this morning,” said he.  “I want you to see one of our Highland salmon.  He is a splendid fellow—­twenty-six pounds four ounces, my landlady says.  My cousin Janet sent him to me.”

“Oh, but, Sir Keith, we cannot rob you,” Miss White said, as she still demurely plied her fork.  “If there is any special virtue in a Highland salmon, it will be best appreciated by yourself, rather than by those who don’t know.”

“The fact is,” said he, “people are so kind to me that I scarcely ever am allowed to dine at my lodgings; and you know the salmon should be cooked at once.”

Miss Carry had been making a face behind his back to annoy her sister.  She now came forward and said, with a charming innocence in her eyes:—­

“I don’t think you can have it cooked for luncheon, Gerty, for that would look too much like bringing your tea in your pocket, and getting hot water for twopence.  Wouldn’t it?”

Macleod turned and regarded this new-comer with an unmistakable “Who is this?”—­“Co an so?”—­in his air.

“Oh, that is my sister Carry, Sir Keith,” said Miss White.  “I forgot you had not seen her.”

“How do you do?” said he, in a kindly way; and for a second he put his hand on the light curls as her father might have done.  “I suppose you like having holidays?”