"Why—who—?" began Margaret. And then—excitedly, "Jock—I believe it's Lady Elspeth. I'm certain it is. It is. It is."
"Just like her! Hurrah for the Gordons!" and he sent them welcomes which a world full of Pixleys alone could not have excited in him.
"Now this is delightful," he said, as he sprang on board and rushed at Lady Elspeth.
"All right, my boy! Don't shake my hand right off, if you can help it. Here, you may give me a kiss, though it's contrary to the usages of my country. We'll pretend I'm your mother again. Now say how do you do to Mrs. Pixley. How's Margaret? I've got crows to pick with you young people—"
"Make it seven, or it's unlucky," laughed Graeme.
"Eh? What?"
"Tell you later. We're great believers in crows here. Mrs. Pixley, I am very glad indeed to see you here. Charles, old man, you've done splendidly."
Charles wrung his hand in silence. His face was sober, with a latent glow of expectation in it. When he had seen to the luggage he joined the group on the quay, and it was Miss Penny who was the first to see him coming.
"Welcome back to Sark!" she said cheerfully.
"I'm uncommonly glad to be here. Everybody all right? How's Mrs. Carré?"