"Of course," she said next morning, as he found himself gossiping with her after breakfast, "woman ought not to work at all. No man really likes a woman who works for him. Work isn’t woman’s natural element, though trouble is. Work is an odious word to women." "Really, Mrs. Pollen, your philosophy is quite upon that of my own thinking," laughed Greig. "Once a man I know declared to me that to girls business life would be a dull existence if it were not for its sly opening for an illicit romance." "One woman writer has said, and with much truth, that petticoats, like time, were made for slaves, and that there is more virtue in a single pair of trousers than there is in a multitude of skirts," laughed Ena. "True. Was it not the same lady author who told us that the wrong part of wrong-doing is being found out?" "Ah! yes. And the same feminine philosopher went farther," Ena said. "She declared that the woman who thinks it wicked to buy silk petticoats and luxurious ’undies’—’because no one sees them’—is a fool; but the hedonist who frankly revels in the feel and _frou-frou_ of silk and _crêpe de chine_ and mysterious lace things is as wise as Eve, who wore leaves rather than nothing, and made a tantalising mystery of herself out of the poor resources at her command." The man from Glasgow laughed immoderately. "Really," he remarked, "you have no great admiration of your own sex, Mrs. Pollen." "No, I have not," declared the Red Widow frankly, as they both halted and leaned over a gate which gave entrance to a great green meadow beyond which was the edge of the loch, the water of which lay like a mirror in the morning sunlight. Up there, far removed from the life and bustle of the outer world, with all its political bickerings and its labour troubles, life was very enjoyable, and the two women who had become so friendly had quickly discovered in John Greig a man whose ideas corresponded exactly with their own—a man who had formed distinct views upon life, and who was not afraid to admit them. At last came the afternoon of their departure for Edinburgh. They bade Mr. Greig farewell on the Pier just before the steamer started for Balloch. Then, going on board, they waved him a farewell as the paddles began to revolve, sending out long ripples over the glassy surface of the loch. He raised his hat with a merry laugh, but as he did so, he remarked beneath his breath: "After all—I’m not sure, _even now_!" *CHAPTER X* *MORE MYSTERIOUS CIRCUMSTANCES* "Let’s pull up here; it’s so delightfully shady." Marigold Ramsay, who spoke, lay back among the crimson cushions of the punt, with her eyes fixed upon the sky. She loved the river. That Sunday afternoon was perfect, and she was enjoying the day on the river after a week’s hard work in the bank.