oved themselves to the window-seat and listened while
Jock, covered with an old skin rug, gave a realistic presentment of the
Lion, that very gentle beast, and of a good conscience.

The 'tedious brief' scene was drawing to an end, when the door opened
and Mrs. M'Cosh, with a scared look in her eyes and an excited squeak in
her voice, announced, "Lord Bidborough."

A slim, dark young man stood in the doorway, regarding the dishevelled
room. Jock and Mhor were still writhing on the floor, the chairs were
pushed anyway, Pamela's embroidery frame had alighted on the bureau, the
rugs were pulled here and there.

Pamela gave a cry and rushed at her brother, forgetting everything in
the joy of seeing him. Then, remembering her hostess, she turned to
Jean, who still sat on the window-seat, her face flushed and her eyes
dark with excitement, the blood-red mandarin's coat with its embroidery
of blue and mauve and gold vivid against the dark curtains, and said,
"Jean, this is Biddy!"

Jean stood up and held out a shy hand.

"And this is Jock--and Mhor!"

"Having a great game, aren't you?" said the newcomer.

"Not a game," Mhor corrected him, "a play, _Midsummer Night's Dream_."

"No, are you? I once played in it at the O.U.D.S. I wanted to be Bully
Bottom, but I wasn't much good, so they made me Snug the joiner. I
remember the man who played Puck was a wonder, about as light on his
feet and as swift as the real Puck. A jolly play."

"Biddy," said his sister, "why didn't you wire to me? I have taken no
rooms."

"Oh, that's all right--a porter at the station, a most awfully nice
chap, put me into a sort of fly and sent me to one of the hotels--a
jolly good little inn it is--and they can put me up. Then I asked for
Hillview, mentioning the witching name of Miss Bella Bathgate, and they
sent a boy with me to find the place. Miss Bathgate sent me on here.
Beautifully managed, you see."

He smiled lazily at his sister, who cried:

"The same casual old Biddy! What about dinner?"

"Mayn't I feed with you? I think Miss Bathgate would like me to. And I'm
devoted to stewed beef and carrots. After cold storage food it will be a
most welcome change. But," turning to Jean, "please forgive me arriving
on you like this, and discussing board and lodgings. It's the most
frightful cheek on my part, but, you see, Pam's letters have made me so
well acquainted with The Rigs and everyone in it that I'm afraid I don't
feel the need of ce