Bertha Afflint clapped her hands. "Oh, splendid! When is he coming
over? I shall drive to Etterick to-morrow. No--bother! I can't go
to-morrow, I shall go on Wednesday."

Lady Manorwater opened mild eyes of surprise. "Why didn't the boy
write?" And the young Arthur indulged in sundry exclamations, "Oh,
ripping, I say! What? A clinking good chap, my cousin Lewie!"

"Who is this Lewis the well-beloved?" said Mr. Stocks. "I was talking
about a very different person--Lewis Haystoun, the author of a foolish
book on Kashmir."

"Don't you like it?" said Lord Manorwater, pleasantly. "Well, it's the
same man. He is my nephew, Lewie Haystoun. He lives at Etterick, four
miles up the glen. You will see him over here to-morrow or the day
after."

Mr. Stocks coughed loudly to cover his discomfiture. Alice could not
repress a little smile of triumph, but she was forbearing and for the
rest of dinner exerted herself to appease her adversary, listening to
his talk with an air of deference which he found entrancing.

Meanwhile it was plain that Lord Manorwater was not quite at ease with
his company. Usually a man of brusque and hearty address, he showed his
discomfort by an air of laborious politeness. He was patronized for a
brief minute by Mr. Stocks, who set him right on some matter of
agricultural reform. Happening to be a specialist on the subject and an
enthusiastic farmer from his earliest days, he took the rebuke with
proper meekness. The spectacled people were talking earnestly with his
wife. Arthur was absorbed in his dinner and furtive glances at his