"his honoured name." I've often heard her
repeat it to Grandma, who invariably snorts and says something to
dishearten or humiliate the poor humble darling who thinks so much of
the Hillard and James families, and so little of herself.

Opening the door, which rings a bell of its own accord, you walk
straight into the drawing-room, or hall. There's an oak screen which
cuts off your view to the left, and gives an opportunity for surprises;
and straight ahead at the back is a lovely old carved stairway, that
goes up steeply, with two turns and two platforms, where stand tall,
ancient clocks. Behind this hall or drawing-room, turned into a shop, is
a tiny parlour, where Mrs. James spends her few free hours, eats her
tiny, lonesome meals, and faithfully reads nearly every book in her
husband's library, so that she may be an intelligent companion for him
if he comes back. The walls of the parlour are covered with his books,
on shelves reaching up nearly as high as the low-beamed ceiling. Behind
the parlour is the kitchen, which looks into a tiny garden with one
lovely apple tree in it; and a back stairway almost like a ladder leads
to what used to be servants' rooms. Now Mrs. James sleeps in one; and
next door is the young girl, rescued from something or other by the
Salvation Army, who is her only servant. The front part of the
"upstairs," which you reach by the lovely staircase in the shop, is
occupied by a curate-lodger. Heppie says Mrs. James can afford to give
up having a lodger now, and that she keeps him on only because she's
stingy; or else because she thinks it "distinguished" to have some
connection with "Church." But I'm sure it's really because she's so kind
and good-natured, that she can't bear to turn the curate away from rooms
which have been his only home for years.

She _was_ surprised to see me get out of an automobile with a man! I
know she did see me get out, because she opened the door herself,
exclaiming in her soft Devonshire voice, which has never been hardened
by the north, "Why, Barribel, my _dear_ child, can I _believe_ my eyes?"

She throws emphasis on a great many words when she talks, which Heppie
says is gushing, and not reserved enough for a true lady; but I like it
when Mrs. James does it, because it sounds cordial, and more interested
in you than any other person's way of talking which I ever heard.

I introduced Mr. Somerled, and hurried in the next breath to explain
that he was a MacDo