ervous strain. I thought of you, Jock, old man, and deeply
sympathised with your experience. I have been to quite a lot of
tea-parties, and I have given one or two. Indeed, I am becoming as
absorbed in Priorsford as you are in sheep."

"You have been to Hopetoun, I know."

"Yes, but don't mix that up with ordinary tea-parties That is an
experience to keep apart. She holds the imagination, that old woman,
with her sharp tongue, and her haggard, beautiful eyes, and her dead
sons. To know Mrs. Hope and her daughter is something to be thankful
for."

"I quite agree. The Hopes do much to leaven the lump. But I expect you
find it rather a lump."

"Honestly, I don't. I'm not being superior, please don't think so, or
charitable, or pretending to find good in everything, but I do like the
Priorsford people. Some of them are interesting, and nearly all of them
are dears."

"Even Mrs. Duff-Whalley?"

"Well, she is rather a caricature, but there are oddly nice bits about
her, if only she weren't so overpoweringly opulent. The ospreys in her
hat seem to shriek money, and her furs smother one, and that house of
hers remains so starkly new. If only creepers would climb up and hide
its staring red-and-white face, and ivy efface some of the decorations,
but no--I expect she likes it as it is. But there is something honest
about her very vulgarity. She knows what she wants and goes straight for
it; and she isn't a fool. The daughter is. She was intended by nature to
be a dull young woman with a pretty face, but not content with that she
puts on an absurdly skittish manner--oh, so ruthlessly bright--talks
what she thinks is smart slang, poses continually, and wears clothes
that would not be out of place at Ascot, but are a positive offence to
the little grey town. I hadn't realised how gruesome provincial
smartness could be until I met Muriel Duff-Whalley."

"Oh, poor Muriel!" Jean protested. "You've done for her anyway. But
you're wrong in thinking her stupid. She only comes to The Rigs when she
isn't occupied with smart friends and is rather dull--I don't see her in
her more exalted moments; but I assure you, after she has done talking
about 'the County,' and after the full blast of 'dear Lady Tweedie' is
over, she is a very pleasant companion, and has nice delicate sorts of
thoughts. She's really far too clever to be as silly as she sometimes
is--I can't quite understand her. Perhaps she does it to please her
mother."

"Jean