"Why not?" she asked, with a guileless face.
"Why," said he, "it's wonderful. Does she look like you?"
"Exactly," said Mrs. Nevis. "Same red hair, same eyes, nose, and faint spells—only," and there was a certain arch quality in her clear voice, "she's single."
"And she looks exactly like you—and she's single! I don't believe it."
Mrs. Nevis withdrew her hand from his arm. When they had reached the door of the Great Tower she stopped.
"If you care for a line to my sister," she said, "I'll write it. You can wait here."
"I wish it of all things, and if there are any stairs to climb, mind you take your time. Remember you're not very good at hills."
When she had gone, he smiled his enigmatic smile and began to walk slowly up and down in front of the door, his hands clasped behind his back. Once he made a remark. "Scotland," he said, "is the place for me."
But when at length she returned with the letter, he did not offer her money; instead he offered his hand. "You've been very kind," he said, "and when I meet your mistress I will tell her how very courteous you have been. Thank you."
He placed the letter in the breast-pocket of his shooting-coat. "Any messages for your sister?" he asked.