Trevelyan came forward suddenly, and leaned over Cary's chair.
"Isn't it splendid," he said. "That's the way we Scotch fight—" he broke off abruptly, recoiling before the consciousness that he had not fought so.
"It's grand," cried the American girl, her breath coming quickly.
The elder Stewart looked up for a moment from the paper he was reading over Cameron's shoulder.
"You ought to have been there, Robert! That's just your kind of work!"
"I wish to God I had!"
Mrs. Stewart crossed the room and went over to where John was sitting at the furthest end of the table, his chin in his hand. She sat down by him and leaned forward to speak to him.
"I know it's hard," she said, "but think how I would have felt!"
Stewart drew outlines on the cloth with the breakfast knife he had picked up.
"We won't talk of it," he answered, and he turned his face away.