"Perhaps you are right--no doubt you are right; but it sounds stupid," the unconvinced Highlander observed again. "It sounds stupid to say going up to the south, and going down to the north. And how can you go down to the Highlands? You might go down to the Lowlands. But no doubt you are right; and I will be more particular. And will you have another cigarette? And then we will go out for a walk, and Oscar will get drier in the street than indoors." "Don't imagine I am going out to have that dog plunging about among my feet," said Ogilvie. "But I have something else for you to do. You know Colonel Ross of Duntorme." "I have heard of him." "His wife is an awfully nice woman, and would like to meet you, I fancy they think of buying some property--I am not sure it isn't an island--in your part of the country; and she has never been to the Highlands at all. I was to take you down with me to lunch with her at two, if you care to go. There is her card." Macleod looked at the card. "How far is Prince's Gate from here?" he asked. "A mile and a half, I should say." "And it is now twenty minutes to two," said he, rising. "It will be a nice smart walk." "Thank you," said Mr. Ogilvie; "if it is all the same to you, we will perform the journey in a hansom. I am not in training just at present for your tramps to Ben-an-Sloich." "Ah! Your boots are rather tight," said Macleod, with grave sympathy. They got into a hansom, and went spinning along through the crowd of carriages on this brilliant morning. The busy streets, the handsome women, the fine buildings, the bright and beautiful foliage of the parks--all these were a perpetual wonder and delight to the new-comer, who was as eager in the enjoyment of this gay world of pleasure and activity as any girl come up for her first season. Perhaps this notion occurred to the astute and experienced Lieutenant Ogilvie, who considered it his duty to warn his youthful and ingenuous friend. "Mrs. Ross is a very handsome woman," he remarked. "Indeed." "And uncommonly fascinating, too, when she likes." "Really." "You had better look out, if she tries to fascinate you." "She is a married woman," said Macleod. "They are always the worst," said this wise person; "for they are jealous of the younger women." "Oh, that is all nonsense," said Macleod, bluntly. "I am not such a greenhorn. I have read all that kind of talk in books and magazines: it is ridiculous. Do you think I will believe that married women have so little self-respect as to make themselves the laughing stock of men?" "My dear fellow, they have cart-loads of self-respect. What I mean is, that Mrs. Ross is a bit of a lion-hunter, and she may take a fancy to make a lion of you--" "That is better than to make an ass of me, as you suggested."