LADY TWOMBLEY. Horrible! Julian giving up public life and settling down in some dismal swamp as a country gentleman. He has threatened it. DOWAGER. Very well then; you must assure your children's future before the blow falls. What could you do for Imogen in the country? LADY TWOMBLEY. A vicar or a small squire. DOWAGER. More likely a curate or a farmer. Will you resign yourself to that? LADY TWOMBLEY. Never, Dora! I never will! I've had to swallow the husks of London and my chicks shall have the barley. Julian _shall_ hold on till they have made brilliant marriages! DOWAGER. Ah! LADY TWOMBLEY. He shall! Afterwards I'll go back to darning stockings with a light heart. DOWAGER. Well spoken, Kate Twombley! [PROBYN appears at the entrance.] PROBYN. Sir Colin and Lady Macphail. DOWAGER. [To LADY TWOMBLEY.] You see my motive? LADY TWOMBLEY. Yes, Dora. [LADY MACPHAIL and SIR COLIN enter--she a simple little old woman in Court dress, ecstatically sentimental; he a formidable-looking bearded man about six feet high, in full Highland costume, bashful and awkward in manner, and keeping close to his mother.] LADY TWOMBLEY. [To LADY MACPHAIL.] I am delighted to see you here. LADY MACPHAIL. [Presenting MACPHAIL.] My boy. [He shelters himself behind her and bows uneasily.] I have determined to give the lad a season in this mighty city, Lady Twombley. LADY TWOMBLEY. Ah, he'll enjoy himself, I'm sure. LADY MACPHAIL. Nay, the Macphails never enjoy themselves in the South. LADY TWOMBLEY. I'm very sorry; perhaps they don't go the right way about it. LADY MACPHAIL. Already Colin's feet ache---- LADY TWOMBLEY. Do they? LADY MACPHAIL. Ache to press the heather again, searching for a sight of the red-deer in the misty chasms of Ben Muchty, or the wild birds fluttering on the gray shore of Loch-na-Doich. LADY TWOMBLEY. Ah, very pretty country, I dare say. LADY MACPHAIL. Where would you be, Colin, at this hour at Castle Ballocheevin? Watching the sun sink behind the black peak of Ben-na-Vrachie? Speak, lad! MACPHAIL. [Sadly.] That is so, mother. LADY TWOMBLEY. Do you do that every evening at home? MACPHAIL. Aye. LADY MACPHAIL. Ah, a Macphail always feels like a seagull with a broken wing in the South. LADY TWOMBLEY. You must take care you don't get him run over. PROBYN. [Appearing at the entrance.] Tea is in the yellow room, my lady. [DRUMDURRIS, BROOKE, EGIDIA, and LADY EUPHEMIA go out.] DOWAGER. [Introducing IMOGEN.] Lady Macphail, Sir Colin--my niece, Imogen. Imogen, take Sir Colin to tea. IMOGEN. This way, Sir Colin. DOWAGER. [To LADY TWOMBLEY.] You see my motive? IMOGEN. [Waiting for MACPHAIL.] Tea is in this room, Sir Colin. MACPHAIL. [Looking at IMOGEN, and then, appealingly, at LADY MACPHAIL.] Come, mother. [IMOGEN, MACPHAIL, and LADY MACPHAIL go out.] DOWAGER. [To LADY TWOMBLEY, following the others.] He is impressed! [SIR JULIAN, in evening dress, enters with a letter in his hand.]