All alive and interested now, although he had slept peacefully in his big armchair till the very moment of their arrival, the laird finds a ready listener in his son's friend.
That message from the keeper restored his equanimity; the hunt has been satisfactorily arranged, and his cares are at rest.
A ceaseless hum proceeds from the big chair. Beatrix wonders what they can find to say more, when over and over the same well-known names — Henry, Purdie, Westley Richards — recur in the conversation.
"I could tell you a curious thing, Captain Blount ——" A quarter of an hour passes.
"I remember something like that, Sir Charles." Another quarter of an hour.
Ten o'clock, the servants come in to prayers, and the evening is over.
Beatrix sweeps past the stranger with a stately little bend; he starts up and shakes hands, looks round to see how many more are coming, politely stands while every one is scuffling about, and, as they leave the room, sinks into his chair again, with "My uncle had a deer-forest" — and Bee laughs outright behind the door.
What a man!
On Arthur, however, his sister's careful toilet has not been thrown away.
He quite approves — he was proud to present her — she has made him capital tea; and he and his friend have had a warm reception.
All is as it should be; and accordingly our young man's brow is smooth: he patronizes his mother and pets his sister, good-humouredly regards the boys, who hang on his lips, and gaze into his face; and Lady Graeme's heart lightens — she really feels the joy of having her firstborn by her side; her husband's animation exhilarates her spirits, and Captain Blount is viewed through rose-coloured spectacles.
Sheep's-head for breakfast!
Arthur makes the best of it; supposes, aloud, that it is there out of compliment to his tastes; and puts nearly the half on his own plate.
As he passes to his chair from the side-table, he says to Blount, "You never saw this before!" and jocosely holds out the plate.
Honest Blount answers simply, "Thank you," and stretches forth his hand to take it.
Arthur stops short. "It is sheep's-head, Harry. You don't know what sheep's-head is."
"I am very fond of it — thanks."
Taken aback, Arthur goes to the side-board for more, and finds that Jack, Tom, and Charlie have swept off the remainder among them.
This is too bad.
He loves sheep's-head and is ashamed of it; and here he has to put up with the shame without the sheep's-head!
"Mamma, why don't we have breakfasts like everybody else? There is nothing but fish here — no omelets, nor curry, nor anything!" cried the young man, magnificently.
Lady Graeme looks down her plentiful board.
Eggs, scones, rolls, hot cakes, jams, marmalade, toast, bread-and-butter, in abundance — on the sideboard cold meats, fish, and game; what would the boy have?
She knows better than to argue with him, however: Arthur in this spirit is best let alone — the loss of the sheep's-head has ruffled his equanimity, and the pleasant mood of the previous evening is gone.
"Miserable tea!" he mutters.
To this also she turns a deaf ear.
"Bee, why don't you look after things? I hate to bring anybody here when everything is at sixes and sevens. Look at that spoon! Duncan doesn't keep the silver fit to be seen! You let everything go down when I am not here: every one does just as they please; and papa and mamma never say a word."
"Do be quiet, Arthur; Captain Blount will hear you."
"I told you I was going to bring him, and —— How was there no hot water in the bath-room this morning?" he breaks off abruptly.
"I don't know. How should I?" retorts Beatrix, with dignity.
"That's it. You don't know. Nobody ever does know about anything in this house. I suppose Macky won't know, either. Blount will think us the queerest lot. That he could not even get a hot bath!
"Oh, I suppose it was that pipe; I heard Macky talking about it, Arthur. The man has not come yet, and she was so put out; she said you would scold her. Don't say anything — it will be put right this week."
"Which means next week, or next month. As if she could not have got it done before now! It is always the way. LIVING AGEVOL. XIII.672
