Before they parted Jessie had shyly told Mr. Stevenson that they were at home to their friends, "for a little music, you know," on the evenings of first and fourth Thursdays; and Mr. Stevenson, while he noted down the dates, asked himself why he had never noticed before what a sensible, nice girl Miss Thomson was. _CHAPTER XIV_ "_Sir, the merriment of parsons is very offensive._" Dr. Johnson. When Mr. Seton had gone, and taken Stewart Stevenson with him, Elizabeth and Arthur sat on by the fire lazily talking. Arthur asked some question about the departed visitor. "He is an artist," Elizabeth told him. "Some day soon, I hope, we shall allude to him as Mr. Stewart Stevenson _the_ artist. He is really frightfully good at his job, and he never makes a song about himself. Perhaps he will go to London soon and set the Thames on fire, and become a fashionable artist with a Botticelli wife." "I hope not," Arthur said. "He seems much too good a fellow for such a fate." "Yes, he is. Besides, he will never need to think of the money side of his art--the Butter and Ham business will see to that--but will be able to work for the joy of working. Dear me! how satisfactory it all seems, to be sure. My good sir, you look very comfortable. I hope you remember that you are going to a party to-night." "_What!_ My second last evening, too. What a waste! Can't we send a telephone message, or wire that something has happened? I say, do let's do that." Elizabeth assured him that that sort of thing was not done in Glasgow. She added that it was very kind of the Christies to invite them, and having thus thrown a sop to hospitality she proceeded to prophesy the certain dulness of the evening and to deplore the necessity of going. "Why people give parties is always a puzzle to me," Arthur said. "I don't suppose they enjoy their own parties, and as a guest I can assure them that I don't. Who and what and why are the Christies?" "Don't speak in that superior tone. The Christies are minister's folk like ourselves. One of the daughters, Kirsty, is a great friend of mine, and there is a dear funny little mother who lies a lot on the sofa. Mr. Johnston Christie--he is very particular about the Johnston--I find quite insupportable; and Archie, the son, is worse. But I believe they are really good and well-meaning--and, remember, you are not to laugh at them." "My dear Elizabeth! This Hamlet-like advice----" "Oh, I know you don't need lessons in manners from me. It will be a blessing, though, if you can laugh at Mr. Christie, for he believes himself to be a humorist of a high order. The sight of him takes away any sense of humour that I possess, and reduces me to a state of utter depression." "It sounds like being an entertaining evening. When do we go?" "About eight o'clock, and we ought to get away about ten with any luck."