'Yes, we'd stop at old McTaggart's. He's the head-keeper and a real friend. McTaggart "has the Gaelic." But he hasn't much else, so perhaps you'd prefer his wife.'
'Why should I prefer his wife?'
Jean's face was full of laughter. Stonor's plan of going to Scotland had singularly altered the character of that country. Its very inhabitants were now perceived to be enlivening even to talk about; to know—the gamekeeper's wife alone—would repay the journey thither.
'I assure you Mrs. McTaggart is a travelled, experienced person.'
He shook his head while he humoured her. 'I'm not sure travel or experience is what we chiefly prize—in ladies.'
'Oh, isn't it? I didn't know, you see. I didn't know how dreadfully you might miss the terribly clever people you're accustomed to in London.'
'It's because of the terribly clever people we are glad to go away.'
He waxed so eloquent in his admiration of the womanly woman (who seemed by implication to have steered clear of Mrs. McTaggart's pitfalls), that Jean asked with dancing eyes—
'Are you consoling me for not being clever?'
'Are you sure you aren't?'