she said, putting it in the bosom of her gown, and she
went on after a bit of musing, "if he swap his rhyming ware for mine it
will be a losing bargain for him."

Before I had time to answer, Dandy Carmichael came in view with a troop
of dogs at his heels, and at sight of him I recalled an arrangement
made the evening before to have a tea drinking on the lawn, and that he
was bidden to luncheon to help with the cards of invitation.

The rest of the day was spent with pen and ink and address books, and
this jostle of circumstance put the Burns meeting out of my mind
entirely, nor did I mention it to Danvers one way or another, which
turned out to be a more unfortunate occurrence than I can tell.

On the day set for the festivity Danvers came early, with the Arran
grooms behind him carrying flowers from the conservatories for the
decoration of the great hall, and all of the morning the house was
filled with gay young voices and merry preparations for the
entertainment of friends. Stands of scarlet droopers were set on the
porch, the hot-house flowers being placed against the tapestry and the
old armor; bowls of drink were brewed and set to cool, and two o'clock
found Dame Dickenson in sober black silk, with a canny eye for the
refreshments, and myself in black as well, and a state of what might be
described as pleasurable anxiety.

Dandy's last words to Nancy before leaving to bring the Erskines back
with him were these: "You are to look your very best; I desire the Hon.
Mrs. Erskine struck mute with admiration," and when she came down the
stairs I could but think that she had taken his counsel to heart,
whether because she was to meet "her rival," as she laughingly called
Isabel Erskine, or by reason of the expected presence of his Grace of
Borthwicke, I was far from deciding.

She wore a huge black hat and a black lace gown, with a kerchief tied
in front and falling near to the ground. Her gloves were black as well,
coming almost to the shoulder, her only touch of color being a cluster
of roses in the knot of lace upon her bosom.

"How handsome you are, Jock Stair," she said, coming toward me. "How
handsome you are! I did well when I selected you for a father," she
finished with a laugh.

The Arran party were among the first to arrive, and in spite of the
restless character of the entertainment I found time for a short talk
with Isabel Erskine, a modishly attired, fair girl, with round blue
eyes and many meaning