“I knew it was going to be fine. We always get fine weather for our Gathering. Last year it was lovely. Well, I must go and get dressed myself. See you presently at breakfast.”

Back in his room Ben Nevis turned to his wife. “I can’t understand why Hugh advised Royde to get an orange kilt, Trixie.”

“An orange kilt?” Mrs MacDonald boomed in equable astonishment.

“Well, it’s really more a kind of orange-scarlet. I cannot understand why Hugh chose such a bright colour. He hates bright colours. That Erracht Cameron tartan he wears is pretty dull, but even so he always buries a new kilt for two years in a bog before he’ll put it on. I really can’t understand it. Well, we’ve got an absolutely glorious day for our dear old Glenbogle Gathering, Trixie.”

“I’m so glad, dear.”

“And I think that pretty little Royde girl took quite a fancy to Hector, didn’t you? I noticed her smiling at him a lot last night at dinner.”

“Well, it would be a very wonderful match for her if Hector did take a fancy to her," said Hector’s mother.

“I wish that silly Colonel of his had given him more leave. But Rose-Ross always was a silly fellow. Talking of Ross I wish the Duke was coming to-day. I’d have liked to hear what he had to say to Hugh when I told him Hugh advised Royde to get that orange-scarlet kilt.”

However, any speculations in which Ben Nevis was tempted to indulge about Chester Royde’s kilt or his son’s ability in the time at his disposal to secure the hand of Myrtle Royde were soon ousted from his mind by the claims of the Glenbogle Gathering upon his attention. Those familiar with the West Highlands and the slight inclination in that part of the world toward the romantic timelessness which is prosaically called unpunctuality will appreciate what a struggle the Chieftain had every year to begin the Games not more than two hours after the printed announcements hung up even as far as in the shops of Fort William advertised that they would begin. This was ten o’clock, but the remoteness of Glenbogle made it difficult to muster many spectators from outside the glen by that time. Therefore, naturally, those who lived in and round about the Castle took it for granted that not many would have arrived before eleven o’clock at the earliest and usually started to get ready themselves at that hour. Since the introduction of summer time the tendency had been to get ready even later than that because, as they argued, it was not really eleven o’clock but only ten o’clock. They were still devoted to Mr Lloyd George on account of old-age pensions, but their devotion did not extend to according what was called Lloyd George’s time an equality with God’s time.