yellow of the laburnum, the cream-white of the chestnuts, the rose-pink
of the red hawthorn, and everywhere the keen, translucent green of the
young lime-trees--was enough to fill the heart with joy and gladness,
though he had been no diligent student of landscape and color. The few
days he had to spend by himself--while getting properly dressed to
satisfy the demands of his friend--passed quickly enough. He was not at
all ashamed of his country-made clothes as he watched the whirl of
carriages in Piccadilly, or lounged under the elms at Hyde Park, with
his beautiful silver-white and lemon-colored collie attracting the
admiration of every passer-by. Nor had he waited for the permission of
Lieutenant Ogilvie to make his entrance into, at least, one little
corner of society. He was recognized in St. James's Street one morning
by a noble lady whom he had met once or twice at Inverness; and she,
having stopped her carriage, was pleased to ask him to lunch with
herself and her husband next day. To the great grief of Oscar, who had
to be shut up by himself, Macleod went up next day to Brook Street, and
there met several people whose names he knew as representatives of old
Highland families, but who were very English, as it seemed to him, in
their speech and ways. He was rather petted, for he was a handsome lad,
and he had high spirits and a proud air. And his hostess was so kind as
to mention that the Caledonian Ball was coming off on the 25th, and of
course he must come, in the Highland costume; and as she was one of the
patronesses, should she give him a voucher? Macleod answered,
laughingly, that he would be glad to have it, though he did not know
what it was; whereupon she was pleased to say that no wonder he laughed
at the notion of a voucher being wanted for any Macleod of Dare.

One morning a good-looking and slim young man knocked at the door of a
small house in Bury Street, St. James's, and asked if Sir Keith Macleod
was at home. The man said he was, and the young gentleman entered. He