Mr Coventry took off his hat. He wiped his brow. He seemed to be turning matters over in his mind. "I shall always call you Dora." "Call me what you please." "Darling!" XII MAGICAL MUSIC CHAPTER I--APOSTLE SPOONS Miss Macleod passed the newspaper to her nephew. "Look at that," she said. She had her finger on an advertisement. He looked at it. This is what he read:-- "A clergyman, having a large family entirely dependent on him, is compelled to sacrifice a unique set of apostle spoons. Twelve large, twelve small, silver-gilt, in handsome case. Being in urgent want of money, a trifle will be accepted. Quite new. Would make a handsome present. Approval willingly. Letters only, Pomona Villa, Ladbroke Grove, W." "What do you think of it?" inquired the lady. The Rev. Alan smoothed the paper with his hand. "Not much," he ventured to remark. "Put on your hat and come with me. I'm going to buy them." "My dear aunt!" "They will do for a wedding present for Clara Leach. Other people can marry, if you can't." The Rev. Alan sighed. He had been having a bad quarter of an hour. He was a little, freckled, sandy-haired, short-sighted man: one of those short-sighted men whose spectacles require continually settling in their place on the bridge of the nose. Such as he was, he was the only hope of an ancient race--the only male hope, that is. The Macleods of Pittenquhair predated the first of the Scottish kings. Fortunately for themselves they postdated them as well. For a considerable portion of their history, the members of that time-honoured family had been compelled, in the Sidney-Smithian phrase, to cultivate their greatness on a little oatmeal--for want of cash to enable them to indulge in any other form of cultivation. But in these latter days they had grown rich, owing to a fortunate matrimonial speculation with a Chicago young lady whose father had something to do with hogs. The lady's name was Biggins--Cornelia P. Biggins--the P. stood for Pollie, which was her mother's name, the "front" name came from history. The particular Macleod who had married her had been christened David. He devoted a considerable portion of his wife's fortune to buying up the ancient lands of the Macleods, in the neighbourhood of Pittenquhair and thereabouts. In his person he resolved that the ancient family glories should reappear--and more. But in these cases it is notorious that man only proposes--his wife never bore him a child. To make matters worse, he only outlived Mrs Macleod six months, so that he never had a decent chance to try his luck again.