e since they had been in the store. Now he
turned to Hesketh quietly.

"I wouldn't bother about that if I were you," he said. "My father spoke
quite--colloquially."

"Oh!" said Hesketh.

They parted on the pavement outside. "I hope you understand," said
Lorne, with an effort at heartiness, "how glad my parents will be to
have you if you find yourself able to spare us any of your time?"

"Thanks very much," said Hesketh; "I shall certainly give myself the
pleasure of calling as soon as possible."

CHAPTER XXI

"Dear me!" said Dr Drummond. "Dear me! Well! And what does Advena
Murchison say to all this?"

He and Hugh Finlay were sitting in the Doctor's study, the pleasantest
room in the house. It was lined with standard religious philosophy,
standard poets, standard fiction, all that was standard, and nothing
that was not; and the shelves included several volumes of the Doctor's
own sermons, published in black morocco through a local firm that did
business by the subscription method, with "Drummond" in gold letters
on the back. There were more copies of these, perhaps, than it would be
quite thoughtful to count, though a good many were annually disposed of
at the church bazaar, where the Doctor presented them with a generous
hand. A sumptuous desk, and luxurious leather-covered armchairs
furnished the room; a beautiful little Parian copy of a famous Cupid and
Psyche decorated the mantelpiece, and betrayed the touch of pagan in
the Presbyterian. A bright fire burned in the grate, and there was not a
speck of dust anywhere.

Dr Drummond, lost in his chair, with one knee dropped on the other,
joined his fingers at the tips, and drew his forehead into a web of
wrinkles. Over it his militant grey crest curled up; under it his eyes
darted two shrewd points of interrogation.

"What does Miss Murchison say to it?" he repeated with craft and
courage, as Finlay's eyes dropped and his face slowly flushed under
the question. It was in this room that Dr Drummond examined "intending
communicants" and cases likely to come before the Session; he never
shirked a leading question. "Miss Murchison," said Finlay, after a
moment, "was good enough to say that she thought her father's house
would be open to Miss--to my friends when they arrived; but I thought it
would be more suitable to ask your hospitality, sir."

"Did she so?" asked Dr Drummond gravely. It was more a comment than an
inquiry. "Did she so?" Infinite kindness