"I positively must have my second short pipe here with you. I kept away in deference to the new member of the family." He flourished his pipe towards me. "I always smoke here, don't I, mother?" "In that case, I will stay in my room after supper unless you continue to smoke your first, second, and third--" "Only two; Doctor Rugvie won't allow me a third--" "Doctor Rugvie is a tyrant, and I 've said the same thing before," I declared firmly. "Now, look here, Marcia," he said solemnly, "we will call a halt right now and here." He settled his long length in the deep easy chair on the other side of the hearth, refilled and relighted his pipe. "Doctor Rugvie is my friend, my very special friend; whoever enters this house, enters it on the footing of friendship with all those who are my friends--" "Hear, hear! Another tyrant," I said, turning to his mother who was enjoying our chaff. "--Whose name is legion," he went on, ignoring my interruption. "I'll begin to enumerate them for your benefit. There are the four dogs, Gordon setters of the best breed--and Gordon's setters in fact." He made some pun at which his mother smiled, but it was lost on me. "They 're not mine, they 're my friend's, and that amounts to the same thing when he 's away." "And who is this friend of dogs and of man?" "He? Guy Mannering, hear her! Why there's only one 'he' for this place and that's--" "Doctor Rugvie?" "Doctor Rugvie!" he repeated, looking at me in unfeigned amazement; then to his mother: "Have n't you told her yet, mother?" "I doubt if I mentioned his name--I had so many other things to say and think of." She spoke half apologetically. "The man who owns this house, Miss Farrell,"--he was speaking so earnestly and emphatically that he forgot our agreement,--"the man who owns these dogs, the lord of this manor, such as it is, and everything belonging to it, lord of a forest it will do your eyes and lungs and soul good to journey through, the man who is master in the best sense of Pete and little Pete, of Angélique and Marie, of old Mère Guillardeau, of a dozen farmers here on the old Seigniory of Lamoral, my friend, Doctor Rugvie's friend and friend of all Richelieu-en-Bas, is Mr. Ewart, Gordon Ewart--and you missed my pun! the first I've made to-day!--and I hope he will be yours!" "Well, I 'll compromise. If he will just tolerate me here for your sakes, I 'll be his friend whether he is mine or not--for I want to stay." I meant what I said; and I think both mother and son realized, that under the jesting words there was a deep current of feeling. Mrs. Macleod leaned over and laid her hand on mine. "You shall stay, Marcia; it will not depend on Mr. Ewart, your remaining with us. When the farm is ready, Doctor Rugvie will place us there, and then I shall need your help all the time."