The _Scandal_, with every bit of sail she could carry, leaped merrily through the water, revelling in her job like the gallant little boat she was. Even my own depression was not quite proof against such joyous influences, and by the time we ran alongside the Strathmore landing-stage I had as nearly as possible recovered my usual serenity. As medicine for a disordered heart, I'll back the sea against literature any day in the week. Grendon, Lady Bulstrode's place, is only about twenty miles from Strathmore as the crow flies, but when one is hampered with a fortnight's luggage and a dog, a crow is devilish little use as a means of conveyance. A motor would have been by far my easiest method of getting there, but George had not suggested lending me his, and it was impossible to hire one nearer than Rothnairn. So after changing into the garments of civilization and collecting my traps, which I had left with Donald Ross, I was driven to jogging eight miles in the latter's open trap, and picking up the local Highland railway at Craigmuir. This abandoned me late in the afternoon at a little wayside station some six miles from Grendon, where I had wired to be met. The Bulstrode family turn-out, with its magnificent red wheels, black horses, and orange livery, was waiting there in answer to my summons. Rufus and I got in amid a general touching of hats, and, reclining comfortably on the cushions, rolled noiselessly off through the magnificent Highland scenery. For the first time I began to fear that Rufus was a bit of a snob. The languid hauteur with which he acknowledged the subservience of the staff was worthy of a newly ennobled lawyer. It was just six o'clock when we turned in at the lodge gates of Grendon and drove up the long avenue of fir trees. I was received at the hall door by the butler--a delightful old man whom I remembered perfectly well from the days of my boyish visits. With the charming candour of an ancient retainer, he at once began to comment on my appearance. "Eh, Master Guy, but you've grown, sir!" he remarked in an approving voice. "It's quite possible, Parkes," I said cheerfully; "especially as I was only fourteen when I was here last." "Fair grown out of all knowledge," he repeated, looking at me with his head on one side. "And brown, too, though you were always a one for getting sunburnt, Master Guy." "I've not lost any of my bad habits, Parkes," I replied. "Where's Lady Bulstrode?" "Her leddyship's upstairs in her own room. I'm to bring you straight up to her, sir." "Lead on, then, Macduff!" I said, smiling, and, tossing my cap on to the table, I followed the old man through the big hall with its innumerable weapons and stags' heads and up the broad stone staircase that led to the gallery above. He stopped outside the door and tapped gently: "Come in," called out a decisive voice, and, turning the handle, Parkes stepped forward.