Small wonder the girl, too, was bewildered. For no one seemed to dream of resenting what had occurred. The lesson conveyed appeared to be that the proper attitude to certain of your fellow-creatures was very much the traditional one towards royalty. You were not to speak unless you were spoken to. And yet this man who with impunity snubbed persons of consideration, was the same one who was coming to call on Sally McTaggart--he was going to walk the bridle-path along the burnside to the white heather haven. With the dazed look in her eyes, and cheeks scarlet with sympathy and confusion, the girl had run forward to greet her aunt, and to do her little share toward dissipating the awkward chill that had fallen on the company. After producing a stammered, 'Oh--a--I thought it was----' the immediate effect on Mrs. Heriot was to make her both furious and cowed. Though a nervous stream of talk trickled on, Mrs. Freddy's face did not lose its flustered look nor did the company regain its ease, until a further diversion was created by the appearance of Miss Levering with an alert, humorous-looking man of middle-age in her train. 'Mr. Greatorex was passing just in time to help me out of my hansom,' was her greeting to Mrs. Freddy. 'And I,' said the gentleman, 'insisted on being further rewarded by being brought in.' '_That_ is Miss Levering?' whispered Jean, partly to distract her aunt. 'Yes; why not?' said Lord Borrodaile, overhearing. 'Oh, I somehow imagined her different.' 'She _is_ different,' said Aunt Lydia, with bitter gloom. 'You would never know in the least what she was like from the look of her.' Lord Borrodaile's eyes twinkled. 'Is that so?' he said, indulgent to a mood which hardly perhaps made for dispassionate appraisement. 'You don't believe it!' said Mrs. Heriot. 'Of course not!' 'I was only thinking what a fillip it gave acquaintance to be in doubt whether a person was a sinner or a saint.' 'It wouldn't for me,' said Jean. 'Oh, you see, you're so Scotch.' He was incorrigible! 'I didn't hear, who is the man?' Jean asked, as those not knowing usually did. Although far from distinguished in appearance, Mr. Greatorex would have stood in no danger of being overlooked, even if he had not those twinkling jewel-like eyes, and two strands of coal-black hair trained across his large bumpy cranium, from the left ear to the right, and securely pasted there. 'It's that wretched radical, St. John Greatorex.' Mrs. Heriot turned from her niece to Lord Borrodaile. 'What foundation is there,' she demanded, 'for the rumour that he tells such good stories at dinner? _I_ never heard any.' 'Ah, I believe he keeps them till the ladies have left the room.' 'You don't like him, either,' said Mrs. Heriot, reaching out for the balm of alliance with Lord Borrodaile. But he held aloof. 'Oh, they say he has his points--a good judge of wine, and knows more about Parliamentary procedure than most of us.'