Rowena looked across at her and sighed; then she turned to her young companion and smiled.
"Well, you see what life does to those who grow old in this atmosphere! Get your own soul into fresher and clearer air, and do something before you die. Isn't it Young that says:
"Time wasted is existence—us'd is life."
"You ought to have lived in the mediæval days," laughed young Alan. "How you would have buckled on your man's sword and thrust him forth! Do you seriously think running down a tiger is more soul inspiring than dancing the Tango?"
"Your soul would get a chance of breathing. Life without a pause is so paralysing."
"We always get into metaphysics—you and I! Hulloo, here is Macdonald by all that's wonderful! The mater has beguiled him here under false pretences; he'll never stand this. Take a good look at him. He saved my life out in France—ought to have got a V.C. for it. He's a cousin of ours."
Rowena took one look at the tall figure coming in at the door, and a faint flush rose to her cheeks, a breath of Highland air seemed to accompany him. He looked irreproachable in his London clothes, and yet there was some indescribable stamp about him that set him apart from the men around him.
"Let me introduce him," said her young companion.
"But I know him," said Rowena.
Alan Graeme started forward and shook hands warmly with the General.