“Is that so?” said Chester pensively. “But I wasn’t thinking about a frock for you. I was just asking which colour you like best.”

“Oh, as a colour I like orange—definitely.”

“Yes, I believe I do too.”

“By the way, Chester, I’m arranging for the architect to camp up at Knocknacolly. I want him to soak himself in the atmosphere.”

“He’ll do that all right if it goes on raining like this. But if he wants any more soaking I’ll take him with me when I start getting my own back on stags. What’s his name again?”

“Robert M-E-N-Z-I-E-S. But it’s pronounced ‘Mingies.’”

“For the love of Mike, why?”

“I don’t know why, but it is. And I suggested Mr Menzies should have a couple of friends with him. One of them will be Mr Buchanan the lawyer, who wants to get thoroughly conversant with conditions at Knocknacolly, and as he’ll have to manage all the business part of it while the alterations are being made after we go back home this fall, I think that’s a good idea, don’t you?”

“This lawyer of yours can’t have much of a business if he can afford to go camping out at Knocknacolly with an architect.”

“But I told you, Chester, he’s quite young. I think it’s much better to have a clever young lawyer who can give your business more of his personal attention.”

“Where did you get hold of him?”

“I met him in—in Edinburgh when I was waiting there for you to come up from London.”

“Well, it’s your house and it’s your country. You do what you like. Who’s the third in the party?”

“A young Scottish poet called Macmillan.”

“A poet? Holy snakes, are you going to turn Knocknacolly into a National Park? What’s the poet going to do?”

“He’s going to give me the benefit of his advice.”

“A poet is?”

“Sure.”

“It’s lucky your Mr Buchanan has plenty of time on his hands.”

Later Carrie told Myrtle how sweet and understanding Chester had been about her plans for Knocknacolly. She also explained that she had led him to suppose she had met James and Alan in Edinburgh.

“So of course you won’t have met them, Myrtle, till I introduce you.”

“Is that a warning?”

“Warning of what?”

“A warning I’ll have to be good as gold and sweet as pie if I ever am to be introduced.”

“Oh, Myrtle, no. You couldn’t think I’d be so mean.” Myrtle looked at her sister-in-law.

“Of course I don’t, honey,” she said, laughing softly and patting Carrie’s shoulder.