Lord Aberfeldie, now above fifty, had taken a turn of service for a few years in the Black Watch till his succession to the title required his presence at home, though an enthusiastic soldier; and soon after his place in the regiment which he loved so well was taken by his only son and heir, the Master, then fresh from college.
Father and son both wore plain shooting-kilts and jackets of coarse heather-coloured stuff, with handsomely-mounted sporans and skeins; other ornaments they had none, unless we except the crest of Graham—their surname—an eagle taloning a stork, in their glengarries; and the peer, who was a keen fisherman, had his head-dress further garnished by various flies and old fish-hooks.
When en route home to the family seat at Dundargue, in the Carse of Gowrie, the Master had been tempted by his father to join him at their shooting-box among the lovely Perthshire hills, where, at present, the party consisted of only four—Mr. Hawke Holcroft, an English guest, and Evan Cameron, a sub. of the Black Watch, also on leave; and these two, attended by a keeper and gillies, were creeping up another corrie, rifle in hand, about half a mile distant.
'You have had this—a—Mr. Holcroft with you for some time at Dundargue!' said Allan Graham, questioningly.
'Yes—for some weeks—before we came up to the hills here.'
'He cannot know anything about the implied engagement—that of Olive Raymond with me?'
'Implied?'
'Well—the peculiar arrangements that exist under her father's eccentric will.'
'Probably not—nay, undoubtedly not,' replied his father, eyeing him keenly; 'it is no business of his—so, whence the question, Allan?'
'Because he showed me, rather vauntingly, a very fine photo he keeps in his pocket-book.'