"By no means—yet," said McTavish. "I was only speculating. It's all in the air. Suppose uncle, that Miss MacNish throws me down!"
"Throws you down!" Traquair was shocked.
"Well," said McTavish humbly, "you told me to charge."
"To charge," said Traquair testily, "but not to grapple."
"In my country," said McTavish, "when a girl refuses to marry a man they call it throwing him down, giving him the sack, or handing him a lemon."
"Yours is an exceptional country," said Traquair.
Miss MacNish appeared in the doorway behind them. "I'm sorry to have been so long," she said; "I had to give out the linen for luncheon."
McTavish flung away his cigarette, and sprang to his feet as if some one had stuck a pin into him. Traquair, according to the schedule, vanished.
"It seemed very, very long," said McTavish.
"Miss McTavish," said Miss MacNish, "has consented to see you."