"To the old place, Nell," he repeated, looking at her with criticising eyes of kind affection, and thinking she looked as though she stood in need of physical and moral backing; "I always think of you here, looking out to sea, just under Betty Cam's chair----" he nodded his head backwards to the scaur of tumbled rocks. "If you get looking so long, Nell, you will be seeing ghostly things--like she did. She was your ancestress, you know, and it isn't safe----"
He spoke tentatively, but she evaded him. "You said you had a question," she asked; "what is it?"
"Only if you have room at the Keep?"
She laid her hand on his in swift reproof--"Was there ever a time when there was not room?"
He smiled. "True; but unfortunately I've--I've a second self now."
"Ned!" She stared at him. "Oh Ned! How could you--without a word! Who is she?"
"It is a he, my dear. We collided together and found out our respective names were the same. But of that anon. And there is a Scotch doctor too--a rattling good fellow, one Peter Ramsay, whom we picked up--but of that also anon. Meanwhile these are at the 'Crooked Ewe' regaling themselves, and--well! I can't leave them, you see, for they're my guests, but--but we could dine with the chauffeurs, you know."
"Don't be silly, Ned! Of course you must come. There's still room in the ruins for the family--and you won't mind----"
She broke off suddenly, and looked out to sea.
"Tired, Nell?" he asked quietly. "How you fuss, my dear cousin!"