"A man in his prime," said Peter Reid.

"That's pretty old, isn't it?" said Jean--"about sixty, I think. Of
course," hastily, "sixty isn't really old. When I'm sixty--if I'm
spared--I expect I shall feel myself good for another twenty years."

"I thought I was," said Peter Reid, "until I broke down."

"Oh, but a rest at Priorsford will put you all right."

Could he afford a holiday? she wondered. Even temperance hotels were
rather expensive when you hadn't much money. Would it be very rash and
impulsive to ask him to stay at The Rigs?

"Are you comfortable at the Temperance?" she asked. "Because if you
don't much care for hotels we would love to put you up here. Mhor is apt
to be noisy, but I'm sure he would try to be quiet when he knew that you
needed a rest."

"My dear young lady," gasped Peter Reid. "I'm afraid you are rash. You
know nothing of me. I might be an impostor, a burglar--"

Jean threw back her head and laughed. "Do forgive me, but the thought
of you with a jemmy and a dark lantern is so funny."

"You don't even know my name."

"I don't," said Jean, "but does that matter? You will tell it me when
you want to."