The Miss Watsons called on all their friends in the next few days, and did not fail to mention in each house, accidentally, as it were, that on Wednesday they expected to take tea with Miss Reston, and led on from that fact to glowing details of Miss Reston’s ancestry.

The height of their satisfaction was reached when they happened to meet Mrs. Duff-Whalley, who, remembering yeoman service rendered by the sisters at a recent bazaar, stopped them and, greatly condescending, said, “Ah, er—­Miss Watson—­I’m asking a few local ladies to The Towers on Wednesday afternoon to discuss the subject of a sale of work for the G.F.S.  A cup of tea, you understand, and a friendly chat in my own drawing-room You will both join us, I hope?” Her tone held no doubt of their delighted acceptance, but Miss Watson, who had suffered much from Mrs. Duff-Whalley, who had been made use of and then passed unnoticed, taken up when needed and dropped, replied with great deliberation, “Oh, thank you, but we are going to tea with Miss Reston that afternoon.  I dare say we shall hear from someone what is decided about the sale of work.”

The epoch-making Wednesday dawned at last.

Great consultations had gone on between The Rigs and Hillview how best to make it an enjoyable occasion.  Pamela wanted Jean to be present, but Jean thought it better not to be.  “It would take away from the glory of the occasion.  I’m only a chota Miss, and they are too accustomed to me.  Ask Mrs. Jowett.  She wouldn’t call on the Watsons—­the line must be drawn somewhere even by the gentle Mrs. Jowett—­but she will be very sweet and nice to them.  And Miss Mary Dawson.  She is such a kind, comfortable presence in a room—­I think that would be a nice little party.”

Pamela obediently promised to do as Jean suggested.

“I’ve sent to Fullers’ for some cakes, though I don’t myself consider them a patch on the Priorsford cakes, but they will be a change and make it more of an occasion.  Mawson can make delicious sandwiches and Bella Bathgate has actually offered to bake some scones.  I’ll make the room look as smart as possible with flowers.”

“You’ve no photographs of relations?  They would like photographs better than anything.”

“People they never heard of before,” cried Pamela.  “What an odd taste!  However, I’ll do what I can.”

By 11 a.m. the ladies in Balmoral had laid out all they meant to wear—­skirts spread neatly on beds, jackets over chair-backs, even to the very best handkerchiefs on the dressing-table waiting for a sprinkle of scent.

At two o’clock they began to dress.

Miss Teenie protested against this disturbance of their afternoon rest, but her sister was firm.

“It’ll take me every minute of the time, Teenie, for I’ve all my underclothing to change.”

“But, mercy me, Miss Reston’ll not see your underclothes!”

“I know that, but when you’ve on your very best things underneath you feel a sort of respect for yourself, and you’re better able to hold your own in whatever company you’re in.  I don’t know what you mean to do, but I’m going to change to the skin.”