But it's a good thing, anyway, Miss Farmond, that the
laird of Stanesland is no likely to get married."

"Isn't he?" she asked, again with that encouraging note.

Bisset replied with another question, asked in an ominous voice:

"Have ye seen yon castle o' his, miss?"

Cicely nodded.

"I called there once with Lady Cromarty."

"A most interesting place, miss, illustrating the principle of thae
castles very instructively."

Mr. Bisset had evidently been studying architecture as well as science,
and no doubt would have given Miss Farmond some valuable information on
the subject. But she seemed to lack enthusiasm for it to-day.

"But will the castle prevent him marrying?" she enquired with a smile.

"The lady in it will," said the philosopher with a sudden descent into
worldly shrewdness.

"Miss Cromarty! Why?"

"She's mair comfortable there than setting off on her travels again.
That's a fac', miss."

"But--but supposing he----" Cicely began and then paused.

"Oh, the laird's no the marrying sort anyhow. He says to me himself one
day when I'd taken the liberty of suggesting that a lady would suit the
castle fine--we was shooting and I was carrying his cartridges, which I
do for amusement, miss, whiles--'Bisset,' says he, 'the lady will have
to be a damned keen shot to think me worth a cartridge. I'm too tough
for the table,' says he, 'and not ornamental enough to stuff. They've
let me off so far, and why the he--' begging your pardon, miss, but
Stanesland uses strong expressions sometimes. 'Why the something,' says
he, 'should they want to put me in the bag now? I'm happier free--and
so's the lady.' But he's a grand shot and a vera friendly gentleman,
vera friendly indeed. It's a pity, though, he's that ugly."

"Ugly!" she exclaimed. "Oh, I don't think him ugly at all. He's very
striking looking. I think he is rather handsome."

Bisset looked at her with a benevolently reproving eye.

"Weel, miss, it's all a matter of taste, but to my mind Stanesland is a
fine gentleman, but the vera opposite extreme from a Venus." He broke
off and glanced towards the house. "Oh, help us! There's one of thae
helpless women crying on me. How this house would get on wanting
me----!"

He left Miss Farmond to paint the gloomy picture for herself.

X

THE LETTER

It was a few days later that Cicely looked up from the local paper she
was reading and asked:

"Who was George Rattar?"

Sir Reginald laid down hi