The
lady talked as if home had been merely an interlude, instead of the
crisis of his life.
"And what did you do? And whom did you see? Please tell me, for I am
dying for a gossip."
"I have been home in Scotland, you know. Looking after my affairs and
idling. I stood for Parliament and got beaten."
"Really! How exciting! Where is your home in Scotland, Mr. Haystoun?
You told me once, but I have forgotten. You know I have no end of
Scotch relatives."
"It's in rather a remote part, a place called Etterick, in Glenavelin."
"Glenavelin, Glenavelin," the lady repeated. "That's where the
Manorwaters live, isn't it?"
"My uncle," said Lewis.
"I had a letter from a friend who was staying there in the summer. I
wonder if you ever met her. A Miss Wishart. Alice Wishart?"
Lewis strove to keep any extraordinary interest out of his eyes. This
voice from another world bad broken rudely in upon his new composure.
"I knew her," he said, and his tone was of such studied carelessness
that Mrs. Logan looked up at him curiously.
"I hope you liked her, for her mother was a relation of my husband, and
when I have been home the small Alice has always been a great friend of
mine. I wonder if she has grown pretty. Gilbert and I used to bet
about it on different sides. I said she would be very beautiful some
day."
"She is very beautiful," said Lewis in a level voice, and George,
feeling the thin ice, came to his friend's rescue.
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