They agreed with him as heartily as people could who were feeling so depressed.
"A public loss," he added; and again they concurred.
"That will have to be taken into consideration in making the arrangements," he went on.
They looked graver than ever.
"Something like Sir James Maitland's?" suggested Mrs. Donaldson.
"Something of the sort," said he.
"I only hope it will not be a wet day," said Mrs. Ramornie. "George caught lumbago at his last funeral—Lord Pitcullo's, you know."
George was the laird of Pettigrew. Nowadays his wife saw that he mixed with none but the most desirable company, whether it were alive or dead.
"Oh, my dear, he must come over for it!" said her sister.
"He will," replied Mrs. Ramornie; and they knew that point was settled.