The eternal feminine was now in command of the situation.
Harriet frowned.
"I can't think who it can be."
"No?" laughed the tormentress. "You are not going to tell me you have forgotten the young man you met the last time you were here?"
It seemed that the distinguished visitor had.
"I do call that hard lines," mocked Eliza. "You have really forgotten him?"
"I really have!"
"He has talked of you ever since. When was Miss Sanderson coming again? Could he be invited to meet her? He wanted to see her aboot something verra impoortant."
A light dawned upon Harriet's perplexity.
"Surely you don't mean—you don't mean that red-*headed young policeman?"
"Dugald Maclean. Of course, I do. He has invited himself to meet you at five o'clock." Eliza sat back in her chair and laughed at the face of Harriet, but the face of Harriet showed it was hardly a laughing matter.
"Well!" she cried. Her eyes were smiling, yet they could not veil their look of deep annoyance.
"Now, Hattie," admonished the voice of maternal wisdom, "there's no need to take offense. Don't forget you are twenty-nine, Dugald Maclean is a smart young man, and Joe says he'll make his way in the world. Of course, you hold a very high position now, but if you don't want to find yourself on the shelf it's time you began to think very seriously about a husband."
"We will change the subject, if you don't mind."
