introduction by post and await an invitation to pass the summer. At
all events, the anecdote proved very pleasing to our Edinburgh
acquaintances. I hardly know whether, if they should visit America,
they would enjoy tales of their own stupidity as hugely as they did
the tales of ours, but they really were very appreciative in this
particular, and it is but justice to ourselves to say that we gave
them every opportunity for enjoyment.

But I must go back to our first grand dinner in Scotland. We were
dressed at quarter-past seven, when, in looking at the invitation
again, we discovered that the dinner-hour was eight o'clock, not
seven-thirty. Susanna did not happen to know the exact approximate
distance to Fotheringay Crescent, but the maiden Boots affirmed that
it was only two minutes' drive, so we sat down in front of the fire
to chat.

It was Lady Baird's birthday feast to which we had been bidden, and
we had done our best to honour the occasion. We had prepared a
large bouquet tied with the Maclean tartan (Lady Baird is a
Maclean), and had printed in gold letters on one of the ribbons,
`Another for Hector,' the battle-cry of the clan. We each wore a
sprig of holly, because it is the badge of the family, while I added
a girdle and shoulder-knot of tartan velvet to my pale green gown,
and borrowed Francesca's emerald necklace,--persuading her that she
was too young to wear such jewels in the old country.

Francesca was miserably envious that she had not thought of tartans
first. "You may consider yourself `geyan fine,' all covered over
with Scotch plaid, but I wouldn't be so `kenspeckle' for worlds!"
she said, using expressions borrowed from Mrs. M'Collop; "and as for