ttle hand, up into the pleading
eyes, and over her set square face there passed a contortion,--there is
really no other word to describe it,--a contortion of unwilling
amusement. The chin dropped, the lips twitched, the red lines which did
duty for eyebrows wrinkled towards the nose. Similarly affected, an
Irishwoman would have invoked all the saints in her calendar, and rained
welcomes and blessings in a breath; an Englishwoman would have smiled a
gracious welcome; but Mrs McNab drew away from the beguiling touch,
turned a broad back on her guests, and with a curt "Come yer ways!" led
the way into the house.

Behind her back Margot beamed and grimaced triumphantly to her
confederate. Victory was in the air! Mrs McNab could not refuse to
grant a night's shelter to a tired and chilly traveller, and by to-
morrow--Margot smiled to herself, recalling the contortion of the dour
Scotch face,--by to-morrow she was complacently satisfied that Mrs
McNab would no longer wish to be rid of her unexpected guest!

CHAPTER NINE.

THE BROTHERS ELGOOD.

Inside the inn a mingling of odours greeted the nostrils. Furniture
polish, soft soap, various whiffs from the bar, which by good fortune
opened into the stable-yard, and was distinct from the house itself; a
sweet, heavy odour of milk from the dairy; a smell of musk from the
plants ranged along the window-sills. In the dining-room the tablecloth
was laid, with a large home-cured ham in the place of honour. The floor
was covered with oilcloth; the furniture was covered with horsehair. On
the mantelpiece stood two large specimens of granite, and a last year's
almanac. Red rep curtains were draped across the window, so as to
conceal all the view except a glimpse of the road. The walls were hung
with a fearsome paper, in which bouquets of deep blue flowers were
grouped on a background of lozenges of an orange hue. Over the
mantelpiece hung a coloured print of Queen Victoria; over the sideboard
a print entitled "Deerstalking," representing two Highlanders in plaids
and bonnets standing over the prostrate form of a "monarch of the
waste." In the corner by the window were massed together quite an
imposing collection of "burial cards," memorialising McNab connections
dead and gone, all framed to match in black bands with silver beadings.

Anything less homelike and inviting can hardly be imagined to welcome
tired travellers at the end of a long and chilly journey. Margot