On this particular Thursday four females sat drinking tea with Mrs. Thomson and her daughter out of the rosy cups with the gilt garlands--Mrs. Forsyth and Mrs. Macbean from neighbouring villas, and the Misses Hendry whom we have already met. Mrs. Forsyth was a typical Glasgow woman, large, healthy, prosperous, her face beaming with contentment. She was a thoroughly satisfactory person to look at, for everything about her bore inspection, from her abundant hair and her fresh pink face, which looked as if it were rubbed at least once a day with a nice soapy flannel, to her well-made boots and handsome clothes. Her accent, like Mrs. Thomson's, was Glasgow unabashed. "Yes, thank you, Mrs. Thomson, two lumps. Did you notice in the papers that my daughter--Mrs. Mason, you know--had had her fourth? Ucha, a fine wee boy, and her only eight-and-twenty! I said to her to-day, 'Mercy, Maggie,' I said, 'who asked you to populate the earth?' I just said it like that, and she _laughed_. Oh ay, but it's far nicer--just like Papa and me. I don't believe in these wee families." Mrs. Macbean, a little blurred-looking woman with beautiful sables, gave it as her opinion that a woman was never happier than when surrounded by half a dozen "wee ones." Mrs. Forsyth helped herself to a scone. "Home-made, Mrs. Thomson? I thought so. They're lovely. Speaking about families, I was just saying to Mr. Forsyth the other night that I thought this was mebbe the happiest time of all our married life. It's awful nice to marry young and to be able to enjoy your children. I was twenty and Mr. Forsyth was four years older when we started." "Well, well," said Mrs. Thomson. "You began young, but you've a great reason for thankfulness. How's Dr. Hugh?" "Hugh!" said his mother, with a great sigh of pride; "Hugh's well, thanks." "He's a cliver young man," said Mrs. Thomson. "It's wonderful how he's got on." "Mrs. Thomson, his father just said to me this morning, '_Whit_ a career the boy's had!' At school he got every prize he could have got, and at college he lifted the Buchanan Prize and the Bailie Medal; then he got the Dixon Scholarship, and--it sounds like boasting, but ye know what I mean--the Professors fair fought to have him for an assistant, and now at his age--at his age, mind you--he's a specialist on--excuse me mentioning it--the stomach and bowels." Everyone in the room murmured their wonder at Dr. Hugh's meteoric career, and Mrs. Macbean said generously, "You should be a proud woman, Mrs. Forsyth." "Oh! I don't know about that. How are your girls? Is Phemie better?" "I didn't know she was ill," said Mrs. Thomson.