“My wife is not Scotch,” said Rowland; “but the difference between Rosmore and an English county is not so very great.” He longed to say who she was--one of the oldest families--but the same pride which suggested this statement held him back. “Oh,” said the ladies, two or three together; and then Mrs. Dean, bringing him his cup of tea, took up the parole. “You’ll soon learn the weakness of a country neighbourhood, Mr. Rowland. We never rest till we’re at the bottom of everything. We had heard it was a lady from India that was to be the mistress of ‘the Hoose.’” And now his opportunity arrived. “I will give you all the information in my power,” he said smiling. “My wife was a Miss Ferrars of Langley Ferrars, a very old family--Leicestershire people. She is a lady from India just as I am a man from India. We arrived about a fortnight ago. Is there anything else I can satisfy the ladies about?” He knew of old that there was no such way of discomfiting the curious as to proclaim your own story, whatever it might be. And he had recovered his spirit, which Marion and Archie had subdued. Society at the station had endeavoured to keep him in his place, but in vain. Even the attachés and aid-de-camps had not been able to manage that. He was a little amused at the thought of this little rural tea party questioning him, sitting upon his claims to be considered one of them.--One of them! His suppressed sense of the absurdity of this gave a gleam of mischief to his eyes, and quite restored him to his own self-opinion, which had been so rudely interfered with of late. He stood with his back to the fireplace, which, even when there is no fire, is a commanding attitude for a man, and regarded them all with a smile. “We are all looking forward to calling,” said fat Mrs. Wedderburn, who did not like the trouble of much talking, yet evidently felt that it lay with her to inaugurate every subject. “That we are,” said his other questioner, who was called Miss Eliza by the other ladies. “I’m just a very pushing person, and ye’ll excuse me. Is it true, Mr. Rowland, what the folk say, that from a boy ye had set your heart on Rosmore House?” “Quite true,” he said promptly, “when I seemed to have as much chance of it as of the moon. They say there’s nothing like boding of a golden gown--for you see there I am--” “It’s a wonderful encouragement to the young,” said Miss Eliza. “The minister should put it into one of the papers he’s aye writing. Did ye not know that our minister was a leeterary character? Oh, that he is! and a real prop to the constitution; for though he may not be always so in the pulpit, he’s real sound in politics--that’s what I always say.” “Miss Eliza,” said the other clergyman, “you must not raise a _fama_ about a reverend brother. We’re all sound till we’re proved otherwise, and Presbytery proceedings are against the spirit of the time.”