"James Stewart!" quoth Alexander. "Humph!"
"Remember that you have not seen it," said Ian, "and that I never said aught to you but King George, King George!" With that he restored the goblet to the secret shelf, put back the drawer, and shut the ambry door. "Friends trust one another in little and big.—Now let's go see Aunt Alison."
They went in silence along a corridor where every footfall was subdued in India matting. Alexander spoke once:
"I feel all through me that we're friends. But you're a terrible fool there!"
"I am not," said Ian. His voice carried the truth of his own feeling. "I am like my father and mother and the chieftains my kin, and I have been with certain kings ever since there were kings. Others think otherwise, but I've got my rights!"
With that they came to the open door of a room. A voice spoke from within:
"Ian!"
Ian crossed the threshold. "May we come in, Aunt Alison? It's Alexander Jardine of Glenfernie."
A tall, three-leaved screen pictured with pagodas, palms, and macaws stood between the door and the rest of the room. "Come, of course!" said the voice behind this.
Passing the last pagoda edge, the two entered a white-paneled parlor where a lady in dove-gray muslin overlooked the unpacking of fine china. She turned in the great chair where she sat. "I am truly glad to see Alexander Jardine!" When he went up to her she took his two hands in hers. "I remember your mother and how fine a lassie she was! Good mind and good heart—"