I was very happy that summer. THEOPHILA. You were in love. And then, the pipers! those pipers! FRASER. Duncan and Hamish were supremely ridiculous to you, I remember. THEOPHILA. Not ridiculous, as you say it—great fun for a time; but four or five months of Duncan and Hamish and their pipes! To and fro on the terrace, for a whole hour in the morning, those pipes! To and fro, up and down, all round the house, in the afternoon, those pipes! At dinner, from the trout to the banana, those pipes. And then, the notion of your persistently dining in a kilt! A Highland costume on the moors—yes; but in the lamplight—at dinner——! FRASER. It is my dress; I don’t vary it. THEOPHILA. Think of it! A man and woman dining _tête-à-tête_, for months and months; the woman hypped, weary; the novelty of her new clothes gradually wearing off; she feeling she was getting lean and plain with it all, salt-cellary about the shoulders, drawn and hideous—[_staring before her, her eyes dilating_]—and, every blessed night, the man in a magnificent evening kilt! FRASER. Surely that, too, was “great fun” for a time? THEOPHILA. It might have been, if you had the smallest sense of humour, Alec; but one soon tires of laughing alone. No, there was never any fun in that kilt. It got on my nerves from the beginning—the solemn, stupid stateliness of it. Girls are subject to creeps and crawls; I grew at last to positively dread joining you in the hall of an evening, to be frightened at giving you my arm to go into dinner—the simple sound of the rustling of my skirt against that petticoat of yours made the chairs, everything, dance. At those moments old Duncan and his boy Hamish seemed to be blowing into the blood-vessels of my head. And during dinner even the table wouldn’t help me; I was weak, hysterical—I declare to goodness I could always see through the thickness of the board—see the two knees! [_With a backward shake of the head_] Ha! FRASER. Well, Duncan and Hamish—poor fellows—and their pipes, and the objectionable kilt—those things need never trouble you again; at any rate, we can decide that. THEOPHILA. Oh, no, Alec, we will go up to Locheen in August—— FRASER. Locheen——! THEOPHILA. Wait! you haven’t heard. [_She changes her position, sitting beside him; he not responsive, almost shrinking from her._] Alec—Alec dear—[_leaning her head against his shoulder_]—I intend to be good in the future, so very good. FRASER. What do you mean—good? THEOPHILA.