He smiled lazily at his sister, who cried: "The same casual old Biddy! What about dinner?" "Mayn't I feed with you? I think Miss Bathgate would like me to. And I'm devoted to stewed beef and carrots. After cold storage food it will be a most welcome change. But," turning to Jean, "please forgive me arriving on you like this, and discussing board and lodgings. It's the most frightful cheek on my part, but, you see, Pam's letters have made me so well acquainted with The Rigs and everyone in it that I'm afraid I don't feel the need of ceremony." "We wouldn't know what to do with ceremony here," said Jean. "But I do wish the room had been tidier. You will get a bad impression of our habits--and we are really quite neat as a rule. Jock, take that rug back to Mrs. M'Cosh and put the sofa right. And, Mhor, do wash your face; you've got it all smeared with black." As Jean spoke she moved about, putting things to rights, lifting cushions, brightening the fire, brushing away fallen cinders. "That's better. Now don't stand about so uncomfortably Pamela, sit in your corner; and this is a really comfortable chair, Lord Bidborough." "I want to look at the books, if I may," said Lord Bidborough. "It's always the first thing I do in a room. You have a fine collection here." "They are nearly all my father's books," Jean explained. "We don't add to them, except, of course, on birthdays and at Christmas, and never valuable books." "You have some very rare books--this, for instance." "Yes. Father treasured that--and have you seen this?" They browsed among the books for a little, and Jean, turning to Pamela, said, "I remember the first time you came to see us you did this, too, walked about and looked at the books." "I remember," said Pamela; "history repeats itself." Lord Bidborough stopped before a shelf. "This is a catholic selection." "Those are my favourite books," said Jean--"modern books, I mean." "I see." He went along the shelf, naming each book as he came to it. "_The Long Roll_ and _Cease Firing_. Two great books. I should like to read them again now." "Now one could read them," said Jean. "Through the War I tried to, but I had to stop. The writing was too good--too graphic, somehow...." "Yes, it would be too poignant.... _John Splendid_. I read that one autumn in Argyle--slowly--about two chapters a day, making it last as long as I could."