“Are you, indeed?” retorted his companion drily.  “Too lazy, I suppose, to do anything else.”

“Well, that may be the case; but this I know, that I’m going to cable Lady McAllister to-morrow, and tell her that I’m going back.  You may stay here if you like, as you appear to find the country so charming.”

“It is very kind, indeed, of you to give me your permission,” replied the other.  “But, my gay and festive friend, I doubt very much whether Lady McAllister will allow you to return.  You know, as well as I, how decided she is.  When she has once got an idea into her head, it is hard to get it out.”

“But, my dear sir,” said the younger man, “it is such an utterly ridiculous idea that she has got into her head now.”

“Not quite so ridiculous as you think.  It is a well-known fact that, about the year 1754, Ivan McAllister, with a regiment of Scottish soldiers, did embark for Canada, and landed at Quebec.  It is just as well known that a Scottish regiment was disbanded near Rimouski a few years later, and we have every reason to believe, from our correspondence with the Quebec Government, that Ivan McAllister settled in this district.”

“I grant you all that, but he is dead long ago.”

“Yes, but in all probability he has descendants living.  If not, of course the McAllister male line is extinct, and Lady McAllister’s hopes will receive a terrible blow.”

“Poor Lady McAllister! she seems to have taken the thing very much to heart.  I hope she won’t be disappointed, but I wish I hadn’t come on this wild-goose chase.”

“You have come,” said the elder, “so you had better make the best of it.”

“Well, a precious lucky fellow this McAllister will be, if he exists.  Why, Dunmorton Castle with its woods must be worth half a million sterling.”

“Umph!” said the old man.  “There is a condition.”

“Yes, yes, but not a very dreadful one.  Still, I’m not sure that I’d like to marry Lady Janet myself.”

“My young friend, your speculation on the subject is idle, for you will never get the chance.”

“Well, it doesn’t matter,” said his young friend philosophically, and with a sentimental air, “my heart is another’s.”

“Ah, indeed!  And who may the un—­” (he had nearly said unfortunate, but corrected himself in time) “fortunate damsel be?”

“Miss Sally Perkins.  Yes, she is the girl of my choice.  Oh! that I had never crossed the briny ocean, so far away from Clapham and my Sally.  The Sunday I broke the news of my departure to her I shall never forget.  It was at tea; we were eating shrimps and brown bread and butter.  She had just poured out tea, and had eaten only two shrimps, when I told her I was going across the broad Atlantic.  She could eat no more shrimps that day.  She was overcome.”

“Poor Miss Perkins!” said his companion.  “Sure devotion could no further go.  She must be very fond of you.”