"Aw!" cried Buff; and the three sprang upon their new friend, demanding further amusements.
But Elizabeth intervened, saying Thomas and Billy must go home, as it was Saturday night. Thomas pointed out that Saturday night made no real difference to him or Billy, and gave several excellent reasons for remaining where he was; but, Elizabeth proving adamant, they went, promising Mr. Townshend that he would see them early the next morning. Buff was told to show the guest to his room (where, finding himself well entertained, he remained till nearly dinner-time, when he was fetched by Ellen and sent, bitterly protesting, to seek his couch), and Elizabeth was left to tidy away the story-books and try to realize her impressions.
Dinner went off quite well. The food, if simple, was well cooked; for Marget, in spite of her temper, had done her best, and Ellen made an efficient if almost morbidly painstaking waitress.
Elizabeth smiled to herself, but made no remark, as she watched her pour water firmly into the guest's glass; and her father, leaning forward, said kindly, "I think you will find Glasgow water particularly good, Mr. Townshend; it comes from Loch Katrine."
Mr. Townshend replied very suitably that water was a great treat to one who had been for so long a dweller in the East. Elizabeth found that with this guest there was going to be no need of small talk—no aimless, irrelevant remarks uttered at random to fill up awkward silences. He was a good talker and a good listener.
Mr. Seton was greatly interested in his travellers' tales, and as Elizabeth watched them honesty compelled her to confess to herself that this was not the guest she had pictured. She liked his manner to her father, and she liked his frank laugh. After all, it would not be difficult to amuse him when he was so willing to laugh.
"I wonder," said Mr. Seton, as he pared an apple, "if you have ever visited my dream-place?" He gave his shy boy's smile. "I don't know why, but the very name spells romance to me—Bokhara."
"Yes—'that outpost of the infinitive.' I know it well; or rather I don't, of course, for no stray Englishman can know a place like that well, but I have been there several times.... I'm just wondering if it would disappoint you."
"I dare say it might," said Mr. Seton. "But I'm afraid there is no likelihood of my ever journeying across the desert to find my 'dream-moon-city' either a delight or a disappointment. But I keep my vision—and I have a Bokhara rug that is a great comfort to me."
"When you retire, Father," broke in Elizabeth, "when we're done with kirks and deacons'-courts for ever and a day, we shall go to Bokhara, you and I. It will be such a nice change."