A close observer would have seen Irene’s eyes glance quickly around at the house and grounds, of which she seemed a fitting mistress, as she went up the stone steps, past the Ionic pillars, to the wide piazza; to which Mr. McPherson had brought rugs and chairs, and where was a small table, with silver urn and the daintiest of china cups from which we were to have coffee after dinner. Here we sat down to enjoy the view of hills and meadows and a strip of woods, through which an opening had been cut, showing a glimpse of the sea in the distance. Taking a seat by Irene, Mr. McPherson plunged at once into his favorite theme, Scotland and Glasgow. Irene was ready for him to a certain extent and discoursed of the places in Glasgow in which she had become posted, while Tom listened open-mouthed and Rena open-eyed, with a recollection of the one rainy day in Glasgow and the one fair day, and Irene’s disgust with the city and haste to get out of it. When it came to the picture-gallery and Irene was asked which picture of all she preferred, she found herself stranded, but said their stay was so limited that they had not given the gallery as much time as she could wish and she could hardly recall any one picture better than the other where all were so fine, and then, knowing she was at the end of her Glasgow rope, she gave a most natural turn to the conversation and swooped down on the Highlands and the Trossachs, where she felt more at home, growing very eloquent over Lochs Lomond and Katrine and quoting a line or two from the “Lady of the Lake,” which she said she believed she knew by heart and had since she was a child. Tom, who was sitting by Rena, whispered to her: “How many lies is she telling? A pile of them, I’ll wager.” “Hush-sh!” Rena answered, fascinated by Irene’s eloquence, which also interested Reginald. He had no suspicion of lies and only thought what a wonderful command of language Irene possessed and how well her animation became her. When the Trossachs were exhausted, Tom, who had had enough of it, began to talk of something else, while Rena wondered if they were never going to see Nannie’s picture and that of her great-grandmother. The hands of the long clock on the stair-landing in the hall pointed to six and at the first stroke a maid appeared, courtesying to the guests, and saying to her master, “Dinner is served.” “And, by George! I am ready for it. We didn’t have much for lunch,” Colin said, offering his arm to Irene, who seemed more erect and taller than usual as she walked beside him, and on whose train, which spread out far behind her, Tom inadvertently planted his foot. No woman likes to feel her skirt pulled back suddenly, and Irene was not an exception. Ordinarily she would have been angry, but now she was on her good behavior, and to Tom’s “I beg your pardon; I had no business to be so careless,” she answered, sweetly: “No matter, it ought to be stepped on. It is quite too long.”