s trip and this beautiful car.

That prim maid Moore, who looks as if she'd had a rush of teeth to the
head, minced to the door of the summer-house where we were sitting, and
called us to luncheon. Of course that interrupted our conversation, but
Mr. Norman said it must be "continued in our next," like a serial story
and we'd make the most of our time between Carlisle and Edinburgh.
"You'll let me help you all I can, won't you, Miss MacDonald?" he asked.
I said "Yes," and thanked him; and then he exclaimed, "Let's shake hands
on the compact."

I didn't know precisely what a compact was, but I shook hands, because
most things which begin with "com" are pleasant. Just as we were giving
the last shake, Mr. Somerled appeared, and I felt myself getting red,
because his eyes looked so blue and fierce, as if he were vexed about
something.

"We're striking a bargain," Mr. Norman explained. "Miss MacDonald has
promised to let me help her up the ladder of fame as an author. How many
days are you going to give us together in your motor-car?"

"My dear chap, I'm sorry to tell you that Mrs. West and I have just had
a row," said Mr. Somerled, "and she's backed out of the trip."

I've always laughed when I've heard or read the expression, "his face
fell"; but faces do fall. Mr. Norman's chin seemed suddenly to grow
inches longer. "Backed out of the trip!" he echoed, as if he couldn't
believe his ears.

"Yes. I asked her to reconsider, but made a mess of it. I fear there's
no hope that she'll change her mind. She says you and she will take your
trip alone."

I quite wished that he'd invite Mr. Norman to break off from his sister,
but he didn't. Perhaps that would not have been etiquette. I don't know
anything about such things. The etiquette book Heppie lent me to read
once was too uninteresting, worse than Hannah More.

Mr. Norman's face went on falling. His sister would not have been
complimented if she had seen it.

"In fact," Mr. Somerled added, "I'm afraid this is good-bye. Mrs. West
doesn't expect"--he stopped and laughed a little--"doesn't expect Miss
MacDonald and me to stay to luncheon."

I see now that it was horrid of me, but I clapped my hands, and cried
out, "How thrilling!" Mr. Norman turned red. I hope he didn't think I
was ungrateful. It wasn't that at all which made me clap my hands. It
was being coupled with Mr. Somerled in the row, and wondering what was
going to become of us both.

"It's like Adam and