and in the details of the day's sport; my other neighbour was evidently
too hungry to waste his time in talking to a chit of a girl like myself.
It was a dull and tedious meal. Lady Sutherland was gentle and polite,
but not talkative. Mysie was too absorbed in her neighbour. As they were
on the opposite side of the table I could catch a word now and then,
though they spoke in an undertone.

The number of courses, the number of strangers, the number of servants,
all confused and bewildered me; the only thing I had grasped was that my
footman friend was called Peter. It was an ugly name and most
unsuitable. Indeed, he appeared to think so himself, for he seldom
answered to it. I cannot say my friend shone as a waiter; he was far
more in his element relating mountaineering adventures. I suddenly
recollected his story of having spent the night on a ledge of rock in a
snowstorm. How did a footman get into such a predicament? One can only
picture him carrying a picnic basket in the tamest of scenery.

The only other people that interested me besides my travelling companion
were Mysie and her friend. I did not wish to act the spy, but a sort of
fascination compelled me to look and listen. The gentleman was immensely
_empresse_, yet nobody seemed to notice it but myself.

"Have you heard from your cousin Fred?" I heard him say.

"Oh, no, we never hear anything of him now. I'm afraid he'll never do
any good. A rolling stone, you know----"

"I thought he was such a favourite of yours," said Mysie's dark admirer,
with a world of meaning in his eyes and voice.

She was conscious of it, and blushed deeply as she replied, "You always
made that mistake. I liked him when we were children; he was my cousin
and I saw a good deal of him, but now----"

Here my attention was suddenly called to myself, and I heard no more. A
pint of rich brown gravy was trickling down over my white silk dress!
_Mine_, do I say? Far worse--_Lucy's_ white silk dress!

[Illustration: "PETER CAME FORWARD WITH THE COLONEL'S GREATCOAT IN HIS
HAND."]

My dismay was too great for words. Besides, all words were idle, and I
knew the culprit was my friend the new footman, who would be scolded
enough as it was. Sir Alexander glared furiously at him and rapped out
an oath, while I mopped up the thick greasy fluid with my table-napkin
and murmured sweetly that it did not signify in the least.

I was glad when the dinner, with its innumerable courses and
intermi