"Only son," added Mr. Wickham, "of the Duke of Damsillie. Scotland for ever!"
"A Highlander?" I asked.
"Yes," said The Freak gleefully. "I am going to wear a red beard and talk Gaelic."
"Who are to be the other--inmates?" I asked.
"You'll see when the time comes," replied Dicky. "At present we have to decide on a part for you, my lad."
"I think I had better be Absent Friends," I said. "Then I need not come, but you can drink my health."
Mr. Wickham said nothing, but rose to his feet and crossed the room to the mantelpiece. On the corner of the mirror which surmounted it hung a red Turkish fez, with a long black tassel. This my host reached down and handed to me.
"Wear that," he said briefly--"with your ordinary evening things."
"What shall I be then?" I enquired meekly.
"Junior Egyptologist to the Fitzwilliam Museum," replied the fertile Mr. Wickham.