"That's no sinecure in this climate, mother. Such appetites! Even Marcia is developing a bank holiday one."
"And gaining both color and flesh," said Mrs. Macleod, looking me over approvingly. I dropped her a curtsey which surprised her Scotch staidness and amused Jamie.
"Are you sure you are twenty-six?" He smiled quizzically.
"As sure as you are of your three and twenty years."
Jamie turned from the window, took a book and dipped into it. I thought he was lost to us for the next two hours. Mrs. Macleod left the room.
"Sometimes I feel a hundred." Jamie spoke thoughtfully.
"And I a hundred and ten." I responded quickly to his mood.
"You 're bound to go me ten better. But no—have you, though?"
I nodded emphatically.
"Where?"