"Oh yes, I liked him. He was very companionable, and it turned out we had a good many friends in common. The Miss Scotts are extraordinarily good company. There is no need to make conversation at Birkshaw; the talk was so entertaining that we sat an unconscionable time over our meals. And they never worry you to do things. If you prefer an arm-chair by the fire and a book--well and good. You know how I hate visiting, as a rule, but I really did enjoy my two nights away, and I learned a lot about gardening." "Did you wear your new frock?" Mrs. Douglas asked. "Oh yes. You were quite right to advise me to take it. You never know about people now. Some have never got over war-habits and still wear sort of half-and-half things in the evening--rather tired-looking afternoon dresses or jumpers; but the Miss Scotts came down charming in lace and jewels and beautifully done hair. I do like that. Heaviest of tweeds and thick boots in the daytime, but in the evening perfect in every detail--so I was glad I had a pretty fresh frock to do them honour." Ann stretched out her feet to the blazing fire. "But it's fine to be back in this dear room, wearing slippers not quite in their first youth, and a dress that no amount of lounging will hurt. Birkshaw doesn't come up to Dreams, though it is several centuries older, and at least three times bigger and full of priceless treasures in the way of pictures and furniture and books----" Ann stopped to laugh at her own absurdity, and her mother said, "You're like your father, child. He never saw anything to equal his own house. He didn't know the meaning of envy----" "Ah, but I'm not like that. Envy! I'm sometimes chock-full of it----" The door opened and Marget came in. She was primed with an excuse for her appearance, but Ann didn't give her time to make it. "Come away, Marget, and hear all about Birkshaw, and tell me what has been happening since I went away. I've just been saying to Mother that I'm very glad to be back." Ann pulled forward a chair, which Marget accepted primly. "I dare say ye are. We 'gree fine, the fower o' us." "And yet, Marget," said Ann, "I have just been reading a book by a very clever woman in which she says that women cannot live together with any profit. They fester. That is the ugly expression she uses." Marget gave a disgusted snort. "Mebbe thae saft scented weemen, aggravatin' and clawin' at each other like cats, no' weemen wi' self-respect an' wark to do. A' the same, I'm no' sayin' I'll no' be glad when Maister Jimmie comes hame. I like a man aboot the hoose. It's kin o' hertless work cookin' for weemen; hauf the time they're no' heedin' what they're eatin'." "Ah, Marget," said her mistress, "it's not like the days when the boys were all home from school and you couldn't make a pudding big enough." Marget shook her head sadly. "It is not, Mem," she said, and then, turning suddenly to Ann, she asked, "Hoo's the _Life_ gettin' on?"