"

"David goes back to Oxford next week," she said aloud, the thought of
money recalling David's lack of it.

"Oh, really! How exciting for him," Mrs. Duff-Whalley said. "I suppose
you won't have heard from Miss Reston since she went away?"

"I had a letter from her a few days ago."

Mrs. Duff-Whalley waited expectantly for a moment, but as Jean said
nothing more she continued:

"Did she talk of future plans? We simply must fix them both up for a
week at The Towers. Lord Bidborough told us he had quite fallen in love
with Priorsford and would be sure to come back. I thought it was so
sweet of him. Priorsford is such a dull little place."

"Yes," said Jean; "it was very condescending of him."

Then she remembered Richard Plantagenet, her friend, his appreciation of
everything, his love for the Tweed, his passion for the hills, his
kindness to herself and the boys--and her conscience pricked her. "But I
think he meant it," she added.

"Well," Muriel said, "I fail to see what he could find to admire in
Priorsford. Of all the provincial little holes! I'm constantly
upbraiding Mother for letting my father build a house here. If they had
gone two or three miles out, but to plant themselves in a little dull
town, always knocking up against the dull little inhabitants! Positively
it gets on my nerves. One can't go out without having to talk to Mrs.
Jowett, or a Dawson, or some of the villa dwellers. As I said to Lady
Tweedie yesterday when I met her in the Eastgate, 'Positively,' I said,
'I shall _scream_ if I have to say to anyone else, "Yes, isn't it a nice
quiet day for the time of year?"' I'm just going to pretend I don't see
people now."

"Muriel, darling, you mustn't make yourself unpopular. It's not like
London, you know, where you can pick and choose. I quite agree that the
Priorsford people need to be kept in their places, but one needn't be
rude. And some of the people, the aborigines, as dear Gordon calls them,
are really quite nice. There are about half a dozen men one can ask to
dinner, and that new doctor--I forget his name--is really quite a
gentleman. Plays bridge."

Jean laughed suddenly and Mrs. Duff-Whalley looked inquiringly at her.

"Oh," she said, blushing, "I remembered the definition of a gentleman in
the _Irish R.M._--'a man who has late dinner and takes in the London
_Times_.' ... Won't you stay to tea?"

"Oh no, thank you, the car is at the gate. We are going on to tea with
Lady Tweedie