"Oh, I hope not," she says, with her embarrassment not diminishing. "I—I should not like that! I—I should be vexed." "A person of good tact and good taste," says this venturesome young man, "would make a joke of it—would insist that you never meant it—and would prefer to buy the picture." She answers, somewhat shortly— "I think not. I think Dr. Sutherland has as good taste as any one. He would know that that would vex me very much." "Oh, well," says he, with a sort of carelessness, "every one to his liking. If he cares to accept so valuable a present, good and well." "You don’t suppose he asked me for it?" she says, rather warmly. "I gave it him. He would have been rude to have refused it. I was very much pleased that he cared for the picture." "Oh, he is a judge of art, also? I am told he knows everything." "He was kind enough to say he liked the sketch; that was enough for me." "He is very lucky; that is all I have to say." "I dare say he has forgotten all about such a trifle. He has more important things to think about." "Well," said he, with a good-natured laugh, "I should not consider such a picture a trifle if any one presented it to me. But it is always the people who get everything they want who value things least." "Do you think Dr. Sutherland such a fortunate person?" says she. "Well, he is fortunate in having great abilities; and he is fortunate in having chosen a profession that has already secured him great honour, and that promises a splendid future to him. But that is the result of hard work; and he has to work hard now. I don’t think most men would like to change places with him just at present." "He has one good friend and champion, at all events," he says, with a pleasant smile. "Oh," says she, hastily and anxiously, "I am saying what I hear. My acquaintance with Dr. Sutherland is—is quite recent, I may say; though I have met him in London. I only got to know something about him when he was in Edinburgh, and I happened to be there too." "He is coming back to the yacht," observes Mr. Smith. "He will be foolish to think of it," she answers, simply. At this stage the yacht begins to wake up. The head of Hector of Moidart, much dishevelled, appears at the forecastle, and that wiry mariner is rubbing his eyes; but no sooner does he perceive that one of the ladies is on deck than he suddenly ducks down again—to get his face washed, and his paper collar. Then there is a voice heard in the saloon calling:— "Who has left my spirit-lamp burning?" "Oh, good gracious!" says the Youth, and tumbles down the companion incontinently. Then the Laird appears, bringing up with him a huge red volume entitled _Municipal London_; but no sooner does he find that Miss Avon is on deck than he puts aside that mighty compendium, and will have her walk up and down with him before breakfast. "What?" he says, eyeing the cup and saucer, "have ye had your breakfast already?"