Gowanbrae had two drawing-rooms with folding doors between, quite practicable for dancing, and the further one ending in a conservatory, that likewise extended along the end of the entrance hall and dining-room.  The small library, where Colonel Keith usually sat, became the cloak-room, and contained, when Mrs. Curtis and her daughters arrived, so large a number of bright cashmere cloaklets, scarlet, white, and blue, that they began to sigh prospectively at the crowd which, Mrs. Curtis would have encountered with such joyful valour save for that confidence on the way home from the book club.

They were little prepared for the resources of a practised staff-officer.  Never had a ball even to them looked so well arranged, or in such thorough style, as a little dexterous arrangement of flowers, lights, and sofas, and rendered those two rooms.  The two hosts worked extremely well.  Lord Keith had shaken off much of his careless stoop and air of age, and there was something in his old-world polish and his Scotch accent that gave a sort of romance to the manner of his reception.  His brother, with his fine brow, and thoughtful eyes, certainly appeared to Rachel rather thrown away as master of the ceremonies, but whatever he did, he always did in the quietest and best way, and receptions had been a part of his vocation, so that he infused a wonderful sense of ease, and supplied a certain oil of good breeding that made everything move suavely.  Young ladies in white, and mothers in all the colours of the rainbow, were there in plenty, and, by Bessie’s special command, the scene was enlivened by the Highland uniform, with the graceful tartan scarf fastened across the shoulder with the Bruce brooch.

Rachel had not been long in the room before she was seized on by Emily Grey, an enthusiastic young lady of the St. Norbert’s neighbourhood, whom she met seldom, but was supposed to know intimately.

“And they say you have the hero here—­the Victoria Cross man—­and that you know him.  You must show him to me, and get me introduced.”

“There is no Victoria Cross man here,” said Rachel, coldly.  “Colonel Keith did not have one.”

“Oh, no, I don’t mean Colonel Keith, but Captain Alexander Keith, quite a young man.  Oh, I am sure you remember the story—­you were quite wild about it—­of his carrying the lighted shell out of the hospital tent; and they told me he was always over here, and his sister staying with Lady Temple.”

“I know Captain Alexander Keith,” said Rachel, slowly; “but you must be mistaken, I am certain I should know if he had a Victoria Cross.”

“It is very odd; Charlie told me it was the same,” said Miss Grey, who, like all others, was forced to bend to Rachel’s decisive manner.

“Scottish names are very common,” said Rachel, and at that moment a partner came and carried Emily off.