Jean held her breath as she saw it. It seemed to her the most perfect thing that could be imagined.
She walked in shyly, winged like Mercury, to be greeted respectfully by a row of servants. Jean shook hands with each one, smiling at them with her "doggy" eyes, wishing all the time for Mrs. M'Cosh, who was not specially respectful, but always homely and humorous.
Tea was ready in a small panelled room with a view of the lawns and the river.
"I asked them to put it here," Lord Bidborough said. "I thought you might like to have this for your own sitting-room. It's just a little like the room at The Rigs."
"Oh, Biddy, it is. I saw it when I came in. May I really have it for my own? It feels as if people had been happy in it. It has a welcoming air. And what a gorgeous tea!" She sat down at the table and pulled off her gloves. "Isn't life frightfully well arranged? Every day is so full of so many different things, and meals are such a comfort. No, I'm not greedy, but what I mean is that it would be just a little 'stawsome' if you had nothing to do but love all the time."
"I'm Scots, partly, but I'm not so Scots as all that. What does 'stawsome' mean exactly?"
"It means," Jean began, and hesitated—"I'm afraid it means—sickening."
Her husband laughed as he sat down beside her.
"I'm willing to believe that you mean to be more complimentary than you sound. I'm very certain you would never let love-making become 'stawsome.' … There are hot things in that dish—or would you rather have a sandwich? This is the first time we've ever had tea alone, Jean."
"I know. Isn't it heavenly to think that we shall be together now all the rest of our lives? Biddy, I was thinking … if—if ever we have a son I should like to call him Peter Reid. Would you mind?"