; he a formidable-looking bearded
man about six feet high, in full Highland costume, bashful and awkward
in manner, and keeping close to his mother.]

LADY TWOMBLEY.

[To LADY MACPHAIL.] I am delighted to see you here.

LADY MACPHAIL.

[Presenting MACPHAIL.] My boy. [He shelters himself behind her and bows
uneasily.] I have determined to give the lad a season in this mighty
city, Lady Twombley.

LADY TWOMBLEY.

Ah, he'll enjoy himself, I'm sure.

LADY MACPHAIL.

Nay, the Macphails never enjoy themselves in the South.

LADY TWOMBLEY.

I'm very sorry; perhaps they don't go the right way about it.

LADY MACPHAIL.

Already Colin's feet ache----

LADY TWOMBLEY.

Do they?

LADY MACPHAIL.

Ache to press the heather again, searching for a sight of the red-deer
in the misty chasms of Ben Muchty, or the wild birds fluttering on the
gray shore of Loch-na-Doich.

LADY TWOMBLEY.

Ah, very pretty country, I dare say.

LADY MACPHAIL.

Where would you be, Colin, at this hour at Castle Ballocheevin? Watching
the sun sink behind the black peak of Ben-na-Vrachie? Speak, lad!

MACPHAIL.

[Sadly.] That is so, mother.

LADY TWOMBLEY.

Do you do that every evening at home?

MACPHAIL.

Aye.

LADY MACPHAIL.

Ah, a Macphail always feels like a seagull with a broken wing in the
South.

LADY TWOMBLEY.

You must take care you don't get him run over.

PROBYN.

[Appearing at the entrance.] Tea is in the yellow room, my lady.

[DRUMDURRIS, BROOKE, EGIDIA, and LADY EUPHEMIA go out.]

DOWAGER.

[Introducing IMOGEN.] Lady Macphail, Sir Colin--my niece, Imogen.
Imogen, take Sir Colin to tea.

IMOGEN.

This way, Sir Colin.

DOWAGER.

[To LADY TWOMBLEY.] You see my motive?

IMOGEN.

[Waiting for MACPHAIL.] Tea is in this room, Sir Colin.

MACPHAIL.

[Looking at IMOGEN, and then, appealingly, at LADY MACPHAIL.] Come,
mother.

[IMOGEN, MACPHAIL, and LADY MACPHAIL go out.]

DOWAGER.

[To LADY TWOMBLEY, following the others.] He is impressed!

[SIR JULIAN, in evening dress, enters with a letter in his hand.]

SIR JULIAN TWOMBLEY.

Katherine! Katherine!

LADY TWOMBLEY.

Pa?

SIR JULIAN TWOMBLEY.

I must speak to you.

LADY TWOMBLEY.

But Dora has just brought a Highland youth here.

SIR JULIAN TWOMBLEY.

I can't help it.

LADY TWOMBLEY.

What's wrong, pa? How pale and waxy you look!

SIR JULIAN TWOMBLEY.

[Handing her the letter.] An urgent letter from old Mr. Mason, m