"A very distant one, but we have so few relations we are only too glad to claim him. He has been a very good friend to us always…. Mhor, you really must go to bed now."
"Oh, all right, but I don't think it's very polite to go to bed when a visitor's in. It might make him think he ought to go away."
Lord Bidborough laughed, and assured Mhor that he appreciated his delicacy of feeling.
"There's a thing I want to ask you, anyway," said Mhor.—"Yes, I'm going to bed, Jean. Whether do you think Quentin Durward or Charlie Chaplin would be the better man in a fight?"
Lord Bidborough gave the matter some earnest thought, and decided on
Quentin Durward.
"I told you that," said. Jock to Mhor. "Now, perhaps, you'll believe me."
"I don't know," said Mhor, still doubtful. "Of course Quentin Durward had his sword—but you know that way Charlie has with a stick?"
"Well, anyway, go to bed," said Jean, "and stop talking about that horrible little man. He oughtn't to be mentioned in the same breath as Quentin Durward."
Mhor went out of the room still arguing.
The next day David came home.