He immediately began to entice Jean into spending money.  It was absurd, he said, to have no one but Mrs. M’Cosh:  a smart housemaid must be got.

“She would only worry Mrs. M’Cosh,” Jean protested “and there isn’t room for another maid, and I hate smart maids anyway.  I like to help in the house myself.”

“But that’s so absurd,” said David, “with all your money.  You should enjoy life now.”

“Yes,” said Jean meekly, “but smart maids wouldn’t help me to—­quite the opposite....  And don’t you get ideas into your head about smartness, Davie.  The Rigs could never be smart:  you must go to The Towers for that.  So long as we live at The Rigs we must be small plain people.  And I hope I shall live here all my life—­and so that’s that!”

David, greatly exasperated, bounded from his chair the better to harangue his sister.

“Jean, anybody would think you were a hundred to hear you talk!  You’ll get nothing out of life except perhaps a text on your tombstone, ’She hath done what she could,’ and that’s a dull prospect....  Why aren’t you more like other girls?  Why don’t you do your hair the new way, all sort of—­oh, I don’t know, and wear earrings ... you know you don’t dress smartly.”

“No,” said Jean.

“And you haven’t any tricks.  I mean you don’t try and attract attention to yourself.”

“No,” said Jean.

“You don’t talk like other girls, and you’re not keen on the new dances.  I think you like being old-fashioned.”

“I’m afraid I’m a failure as a girl,” Jean confessed, “but perhaps I’ll get more charming as I get older.  Look at Pamela!”

“Oh, Miss Reston,” said David, in the tone that he might have said “Helen of Troy.” ...  “But seriously, Jean, I think you are using your money in a very dull way.  You see, you’re so dashed helpful.  What makes you want to think all the time about slum children?...  I think you’d better present your money all in a lump to the Government as a drop in the ocean of the National Debt.”

“I’ll not give it to the Government,” said Jean, “but we may count ourselves lucky if they don’t thieve it from us.  I’m at one with Bella Bathgate when she says, ’I’m no verra sure aboot thae politicians Liberal or Tory.’  I think she fears that any day they may grab Hillview from her.”

“Anyway,” David persisted, “we might have a car.  I learned to drive at Oxford.  It would be frightfully useful, you know, a little car.”

“Useful!” laughed Jean.  “Have you written any more, Davie?”

David explained that the term had been a very busy one, and that his time had been too much occupied for any outside work, and Jean understood that the stimulus of poverty having been removed David had fallen into easier ways.  And why not—­at nineteen?

“We must think about a car.  Do you know all about the different makes?  We mustn’t be rash.”