Sir James had invited Custer and Malcolm to his lacustrine country-seat
in the early spring. But he learned nothing more of the progress of
Malcolm's claim, its details, or the manner in which it was prosecuted.
No one else seemed to know anything about it; it found no echo in the
gossip of the clubs, or in the newspapers of St. Kentigern. In the
absence of the parties connected with it, it began to assume to him the
aspect of a half-humorous romance. He often found himself wondering if
there had been any other purpose in this quest or speculation than what
had appeared on the surface, it seemed so inadequate in result. It would
have been so perfectly easy for a wealthy syndicate to buy up a much
more valuable estate. He disbelieved utterly in the sincerity of
Malcolm's sentimental attitude. There must be some other reason--perhaps
not known even to the syndicate.

One day he thought that he had found it. He had received a note
addressed from one of the principal hotels, but bearing a large
personal crest on paper and envelope. A Miss Kirkby, passing through St.
Kentigern on her way to Edinburgh, desired to see the consul the next
day, if he would appoint an hour at the consulate; or, as her time was
limited, she would take it as a great favor if he would call at her
hotel. Although a countrywoman, her name might not be so well known to
him as those of her "old friends" Harry Custer, Esq., and Sir
Malcolm McHulish. The consul was a little surprised; the use of the
title--unless it referred to some other McHulish--would seem to indicate
that Malcolm's claim was successful. He had, however, no previous
knowledge of the title of "Sir" in connection with the estate, and
it was probable that his fair correspondent--like most of her
countrywomen--was more appreciative than correct in her bestowal of
dignities. He determined to waive his ordinary business rules, and
to call upon her at once, accepting, as became his patriotism, that