ke his entrance into, at least, one little
corner of society. He was recognized in St. James's Street one morning
by a noble lady whom he had met once or twice at Inverness; and she,
having stopped her carriage, was pleased to ask him to lunch with
herself and her husband next day. To the great grief of Oscar, who had
to be shut up by himself, Macleod went up next day to Brook Street, and
there met several people whose names he knew as representatives of old
Highland families, but who were very English, as it seemed to him, in
their speech and ways. He was rather petted, for he was a handsome lad,
and he had high spirits and a proud air. And his hostess was so kind as
to mention that the Caledonian Ball was coming off on the 25th, and of
course he must come, in the Highland costume; and as she was one of the
patronesses, should she give him a voucher? Macleod answered,
laughingly, that he would be glad to have it, though he did not know
what it was; whereupon she was pleased to say that no wonder he laughed
at the notion of a voucher being wanted for any Macleod of Dare.

One morning a good-looking and slim young man knocked at the door of a
small house in Bury Street, St. James's, and asked if Sir Keith Macleod
was at home. The man said he was, and the young gentleman entered. He
was a most correctly dressed person. His hat, and gloves, and cane, and
long-tailed frock-coat were all beautiful; but it was, perhaps, the
tightness of his nether garments, or, perhaps, the tightness of his
brilliantly-polished boots (which were partially covered by white
gaiters), that made him go up the narrow little stairs with some
precision of caution. The door was opened and he was announced.

"My dear old boy," said he, "how do you do?" and Macleod gave him a grip
of the hand that nearly burst one of his gloves.

But at this moment an awful accident occurred. From behind the door of
the adjacent bedroom, Oscar, the collie, sprang forward with an angry
growl; then he seemed to recognize the situation of affairs, when he saw
his master holding the stranger's hand; then he began to wag his tail;
then he jumped up with his fore-paws to give a kindly welcome.

"Hang it all, Macleod!" young Ogilvie cried, with all the starch gone
out of his manner; "your dog's all wet? What's the use of keeping a
brute like that about the place?"

Alas! the beautiful, brilliant boots were all besmeared, and the white
gaiters too, and the horsey-looking n