“Yes; I’ve been recommended to Lossiemouth to get the real, unadulterated air straight from the North Pole and to have a little golf, and I’ve brought this young fellow along with me,” Sir Richard answered, lying boldly and with ease; his nephew was positively staggered by such fluent proficiency.
“I think you know my wife,” said the General. “Yes; let me introduce you to my niece, Miss Morven.”
Sir Richard bowed, and said—
“And allow me to present my nephew, Mr. Wynyard—Mrs. Morven,” and, accompanying his introduction with a sharp glance, “Miss Morven.”
“Mr. Wynyard and I have already met,” she announced, in a faint voice.
“That’s all right, then,” said her uncle heartily. “Now we all know one another,” and he rubbed his hands. “Sir Richard, will you sit at our table? There is lots of room for five.”
“Thanks, we shall be delighted.”
“How did you discover Lossiemouth?” inquired Mrs. Morven when the newcomers were seated.
“Well, the fact is, I never heard of it till lately, and then a friend strongly advised me to try it—he said it was just the place to suit me.” He glanced complacently at his nephew, as much as to claim approval. “I’m uncommonly glad to meet you, General; we can have some rounds together. What’s your handicap?”
As the two older men talked, Mrs. Morven proceeded to cultivate the younger, and Aurea for once felt herself out in the cold and—what was more serious—indescribably ill at ease. She dropped her fork, helped herself twice to salt, and crumbled her uncle’s bread.