"I don't know. I liked it. I suppose Aunt Alison thought it might hang
here."

"I like to see pictures in my mind. But things like that poison me!
Let's see the rest of the house."

They went again through Ian's room. Coming to a fine carved ambry, he
hesitated, then stood still. "I'm going to show you something else! I
show it to you because I trust you. It's like your telling me about
your making gold out of lead." He opened a door of the ambry, pulled
out a drawer, and, pressing some spring, revealed a narrow, secret
shelf. His hand went into the dimness and came out bearing a silver
goblet. This he set carefully upon a neighboring table, and looked at
Alexander somewhat aslant out of long, golden-brown eyes.

"It's a bonny goblet," said Alexander. "Why do you keep it like that?"

Ian looked around him. "Years and years ago my father, who is dead
now, was in France. There was a banquet at Saint-Germain. _A very
great person_ gave it and was in presence himself. All the gentlemen
his guests drank a toast for which the finest wine was poured in
especial goblets. Afterward each was given for a token the cup from
which he drank.... Before he died my father gave me this. But of
course I have to keep it secret. My uncle and all the world around
here are Whigs!"

"James Stewart!" quoth Alexander. "Humph!"

"Remember that you have not seen it," said Ian, "and that I never said
aught to you but _King George, King George!_" With that he restored