"My son has met him, but his house lies empty; he is hardly ever here."
"Won't your son come in and see me? I am one of his parishioners, you know. And we will have tea together presently. It will be my first party. Are your feet dry? Won't you change your shoes?"
Mrs. Macintosh held out two very pretty slender feet.
"I have been in the car the whole time. But as we got nearer your house, the rain came down like a waterspout. I will go and fetch my son. It is very kind of you to offer us such hospitality."
Robert Macintosh very soon appeared, a tall fine-looking young man with rather a stern face; but it softened as Rowena welcomed him with her happy smiling eyes.
It was a very successful little tea-party. Rowena had not seen many Scotch ministers, and those she had met were of a different stamp to Robert Macintosh. He was a gentleman, and his mother was a charming old lady with plenty to say for herself. Rowena explained herself very briefly.
"I am doing a kind of rest cure here—hurt my back out hunting and am obliged to lie on it for a time. My brother is abroad, so we shall have no shooting parties this year. I think he has sub-let the shooting to some fellow-officer of his; but not the house."
"You have books," said the young man, glancing at the low bookcase by the side of the couch.
"Yes, they are delightful company, are they not? Are you a reader? But of course you are? It is your avocation."
"Is it?" smiled Robert. "My mother would say it makes me a very unsociable creature to live with."