Pamela and Jean removed themselves to the window-seat and listened while
Jock, covered with an old skin rug, gave a realistic presentment of the
Lion, that very gentle beast, and of a good conscience.
The 'tedious brief' scene was drawing to an end, when the door opened and Mrs. M'Cosh, with a scared look in her eyes and an excited squeak in her voice, announced, "Lord Bidborough."
A slim, dark young man stood in the doorway, regarding the dishevelled room. Jock and Mhor were still writhing on the floor, the chairs were pushed anyway, Pamela's embroidery frame had alighted on the bureau, the rugs were pulled here and there.
Pamela gave a cry and rushed at her brother, forgetting everything in the joy of seeing him. Then, remembering her hostess, she turned to Jean, who still sat on the window-seat, her face flushed and her eyes dark with excitement, the blood-red mandarin's coat with its embroidery of blue and mauve and gold vivid against the dark curtains, and said, "Jean, this is Biddy!"
Jean stood up and held out a shy hand.
"And this is Jock—and Mhor!"
"Having a great game, aren't you?" said the newcomer.
"Not a game," Mhor corrected him, "a play, Midsummer Night's Dream."
"No, are you? I once played in it at the O.U.D.S. I wanted to be Bully Bottom, but I wasn't much good, so they made me Snug the joiner. I remember the man who played Puck was a wonder, about as light on his feet and as swift as the real Puck. A jolly play."
"Biddy," said his sister, "why didn't you wire to me? I have taken no rooms."