"Oh, they've had it for ages. They are a very old family, you know, and
look down upon us as parvenus. They have been everything in their
day--soldiers, statesmen, lawyers; and when we were decent merchants in
Abbeykirk three centuries ago, they were busy making history. When you
go to Etterick you must see the pictures. There is a fine one by
Jameson of the Haystoun who fought with Montrose, and Raeburn painted
most of the Haystouns of his time. They were a very handsome race, at
least the men; the women were too florid and buxom for my taste."
"And this Lewis--is he the only one of the family?"
"The very last, and of course he does his best to make away with himself
by risking his precious life in Hindu Kush or Tibet or somewhere." Her
ladyship was geographically vague.
"What a pity he does not realize his responsibilities!" said the
politician. "He might do so much."
But at the moment it dawned upon the speaker that the skirker of
responsibilities was appearing in person. There strode towards them,
across the lawn, a young man and two dogs.
"How do you do, Aunt Egeria?" he cried, and he caught her small woman's
hand in a hard brown one and smiled on the little lady.
Bertha Afflint had flung her magazine to the winds and caught his
available left hand. "Oh, Lewie, you wretch! how glad we are to see
you again." Meantime the dogs performed a solemn minuet around her
ladyship's knees.
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