"And who may Mr. Fenton be? I've never met him--have I, Sandy?" "No. He's a well-known singer Kitty's recently admitted into the fold." "Do you mean he earns his living by singing at concerts?" "Yes. And a jolly good living, too." A shadow fell across Sandy's pleasant freckled face. It was a matter of unavailing regret to him that owing to his parents' prejudice against music and musicians he had been debarred from earning a living in like manner with his long, capable fingers. Eliza saw the shadow, and her brows contracted in a slight frown. Vaguely she was beginning to realise some small part of the suffering which the parental restriction had imposed upon her son--the perpetual irritation of a thwarted longing which it had entailed. But she had not yet advanced sufficiently along the widening road of thought to grasp the pitiful, irreparable waste it had involved of a talent bordering on genius. She pursed her lips obstinately together. "There'll come no blessing with money that's earned by mere pleasuring," she averred. "If you only knew what hard work it means to be a successful musician, Aunt Eliza, you'd be less drastic in your criticism," interposed Nan, with warmth. Eliza's shrewd eyes twinkled. "You work hard, don't you, my dear?" she observed drily. Nan laughed, colouring a little. "Perhaps I should work harder if Uncle David didn't spoil me so. You know he's increased my allowance lately?" Eliza snorted indignantly. "I always kent he was mair fulish than maist o' his sex." "It's rather an endearing kind of foolishness," remarked Sandy. His mother eyed him sharply. "We're not put into the world to be endearing," she retorted, "but to do our duty." "It might be possible to combine both," suggested Sandy. "Well, you're not the one to do it," she answered grimly. "And what's Penelope doing?" she continued, turning to Nan. "She's more sense than the rest of ye put together, for all she's so daft about music." "Penelope," said Sandy solemnly, "is preparing to enter upon the duties and privileges of matrimony." "What may you mean by that?" Sandy stirred his tea while Eliza waited impatiently for his answer. "She's certainly 'walking out,'" he maintained. "And that's by no means the shortest road to matrimony," snapped Eliza. "My cook's been walking out with the village carpenter ever since she came to St. Wennys, but she's no nearer a wedding ring than she was twelve months ago." "I think," observed Sandy gravely, "that greater success will attend Penelope's perambulations. Kitty was so cock-a-hoop over it that she couldn't refrain from 'phoning the good news on Sunday morning. I meant to tell you when you came back from church, but clean forgot." "And who's the man?"