‘That phrase always reminds me,’ remarked Alec, ‘of what one of the Erskines--I don’t remember which of them it was--once said, when some one said in his company that so-and-so had died worth three hundred thousand pounds--“Did he indeed, sir? And a very pretty sum, too, to begin the next world with.”’ Cameron smiled grimly. ‘You’ll have to go, Alec,’ he repeated; ‘and you needn’t be afraid of appearing ridiculous. Do as you see others do, and keep a lown sail; better seem blate than impident.’ ‘My father would be in a fine way if he heard that my uncle had invited me, and that I had refused the invitation,’ said Lindsay. ‘And quite right too,’ rejoined Cameron. ‘Besides, Alec, the old man is your father’s uncle, and you ought to show him some respect.’ ‘That wasn’t the reason you put in the forefront,’ said Alec slyly. For reply Cameron, who had reached the door, picked up a Greek grammar, flung it at his friend’s head as he muttered something in Gaelic, and banging the door behind him, ascended to his own domicile. Exactly at the appointed hour Alec presented himself at his grand-uncle’s house in Blythswood Square. The square had once been fashionable, and was still something more than respectable, because the houses were too large to be inhabited by people of moderate means; but the situation was dull and gloomy to the last degree. Within, however, there was a very different scene. Entrance-hall, staircase, drawing-room, were all as brilliant as gas-jets could make them. The walls, even of the passages, were lined with pictures, good, bad, and indifferent. Every landing, every corner, held a statue, or at least a statuette, or a bust upon a pedestal. When Alec was ushered into the drawing-room, he could hardly see for the blaze of light; he could hardly move for little tables laden with china, ormolu, and bronzes. Fortunately, Sir Peter and Lady Colquhoun were entering the reception-room just as Alec reached it, so that he made his entrance in their wake, and, as it were, under their lee. The room was already pretty well filled, and more guests were continually arriving. On the hearth-rug stood a little old man, with a mean, inexpressive face, scanty hair which was still gray, thin gray whiskers, small eyes, and a fussy consequential air. When he spoke, it was in a high-pitched, rasping voice; and he invariably gave one the impression that he was insisting upon being noticed and attended to. This was Mr. Lindsay of Drumleck. He stared at Alec for an instant, then gave him his hand in silence, and, without addressing a word to him, continued his conversation with the Lord Provost’s wife. Alec’s face flushed. His first impulse was to walk out of the room, and out of the house; but on second thoughts he saw that that course would not even be dignified. He retreated to a corner, and set himself to watch the company.