should be so deluded; and Margot was
happily above the littleness of desiring to monopolise the credit for
her ideas. So long as a point was gained, she was more than content to
remain inconspicuously in the background.

CHAPTER SEVEN.

PREPARATIONS.

Every one said that it would rain. It was most depressing. You had
only to mention that you intended to spend your summer holiday in a
Highland glen, to set the torrent of warning in full flow. "It will
rain all the time.--It always rains in Scotland... You will be
soaked... You will be starved... You will feel as if you have gone
back to winter. You will miss all the summer in the South... You will
get rheumatism... You will be bored to death." On and on it went, each
newcomer adding volume to the chorus, until it became quite difficult to
remember that one was starting on a pleasure trip, and not on a perilous
Arctic exploration.

"Take plenty of wraps!" urged the wise ones. "Don't imagine that you
will be able to wear pretty white things, as you do at home. Take old
things that don't matter, for no one will see you, and you will never
want to wear them again. You will shiver round the fire in the
evenings. Be sure to take rugs. You won't have half enough blankets on
the bed. I was in the Highlands for a month two years ago, and we had
one fine day!"

"Well!" queried Margot of this last Job's comforter, "and what was
_that_ like? Were you glad that you were there for that one day at
least?"

The speaker paused, and over her face there passed a wave of
illuminating recollection. She was a prosaic, middle-aged woman, but
for the moment she looked young,--young and ardent.

"Ah!" she sighed. "That day! It was wonderful; I shall never forget
it. We went to bed cold and tired, looking forward to another dark,
depressing morning, and woke in a dazzle of sunlight, to see the
mountains outlined against a blue sky. We ran out into the road, and
held out our hands to the sun, and the wind blew towards us, the soft,
wet, heathery wind, and it tasted like--_nectar_! We could not go
indoors. We walked about all day, and laughed, and sang. We walked
miles. It seemed as if we could not tire. I--I think we were `fey.'"
She paused again, and the light flickered out, leaving her cold and
prosaic once more. "The rest of the time was most unfortunate. I
contracted a severe chill, and my sister-in-law had rheumatism in her
ankles. Now, my dear, be