"Why?"
"Because," said the young man, as he went leisurely towards the door, "there might be a question of evening dress. You haven't a Court tailor at Lochgarra, have you?"
Mary flushed slightly.
"I don't care whether he appears in evening dress or not," said she. "Most likely he will come along from his yacht; and a yachting suit is as good as any—in my eyes."
That evening, when the young hostess came downstairs, the large drawing-room was all suffused with a soft warmth of colour, for the sun was just sinking behind the violet-grey Atlantic, and the glory of the western skies streamed in through the several windows. Käthchen was here; and Käthchen's eyes lighted up with pleasure when she saw how Mary was attired. And yet could any costume have been simpler than this dress of cream-coloured China silk, its only ornamentation being a bunch of deep crimson fuchsias at the opening of the bodice, with another cluster of the same flowers at her belt? She wore no jewellery of any kind whatsoever.
"That is more like you, Mamie," said Käthchen, coming forward with a proud and admiring scrutiny. "I want Mr. Ross to see you in something different from your ordinary workaday things. And you look taller, too, somehow. And fairer—or is that the light from the windows?"
At this very moment the door was opened, and Mr. Ross was announced. Mary turned—with some little self-conscious expectation. And here was Young Donald of Heimra, in faultless evening dress; and there was a quiet look of friendliness in his eyes as he came forward and took the hand that was offered him. Käthchen said to herself: "Why is it that the full shirt-front and white tie suit dark men so well? And why doesn't he dress like that every evening?" For Käthchen did not know that that was precisely what Donald Ross had been in the habit of doing all the years that his mother and he had lived out in that remote island; it was a little compliment he paid her; and she liked that bit of make-believe of ceremony in the monotony of their isolated life.
The new-comers who had arrived that afternoon were somewhat late; for they had gone down to the river to have a cast or two—a futile proceeding in the blazing sunlight; but presently they made their appearance, and were in due course introduced to Donald Ross. Käthchen, who was as usual a keen and interested observer, and who had heard of Fred Stanley's indignant protest, could not but admire the perfect good breeding he displayed on being thus brought face to face with his enemy. But indeed the ordinary every-day manner of a well-educated young Englishman—its curious impassivity, its lack of self-assertion—is a standing puzzle for foreigners and for Americans. What is the origin of it? Blank stupidity? Or a serene contempt for the opinion of others? Or a determination not to commit one's self? Or an affectation of having already seen and done everything worth seeing and doing? Anyhow, Fred Stanley's demeanour towards this stranger and intruder was perfect in its negative way; and so was that of his friend, though Frank Meredyth, by virtue of his superior years, allowed himself to be a little more careless and off-hand. However, there was not much time for forming surmises or jumping to conclusions; for presently dinner was announced.
"Mr. Meredyth, will you take in Miss Glendinning?" Mary said. "Fred, I'm sorry we've nobody for you." And therewithal she turned to Donald Ross, and took his arm, and these two followed the first couple into the dining-room. Young Ross sate at her right hand, of course; he was her chief guest; the others belonged to the house.
It was rather an animated little party; for if the Twelfth was as yet some way off, there were plenty of speculations as to what the Garra was likely to yield in the way of grilse and sea-trout. Käthchen noticed that Donald Ross spoke but little, and that they seldom appealed to him; indeed, Mr. Meredyth, professing to have met with unvarying ill-luck on every stream he had ever fished, was devising an ideal salmon-river on which the sportsman would not be continually exposed to the evil strokes of fate.