“I’m afraid Royde will be disappointed. I told him about throwing any Scottish Nationalists we caught into the nearest loch, and he was very pleased with the idea. What are you going to ask for Knocknacolly?”

“I thought of asking ten thousand and taking eight. Well, as a matter of fact I’d take seven.”

“Ask fifteen and take twelve.”

“Well, of course if I could get twelve thousand, I could pay off the mortgage on Kilwhillie and have enough to do it up. But what’s the use of dreaming?” The Laird of Kilwhillie shook his head sadly.

“Look here, Hugh, you leave this to me … by the way, look out, the end of your moustache has got into your porridge … that’s it, it’s out now … yes, you leave this to me. I’m going for fifteen. After all, what’s fifteen thousand to a man like Royde? His father has over twenty million, and he’s the only son. Twenty million pound a lot of money, Hugh.”

“Yes, it is a lot of money.”

“I suppose his sister will have at least a couple of million one day. By the way, don’t let me forget I have to send that cable to Hector. Oh yes, I’m going for fifteen thousand pounds. After all, if you had twenty millions you wouldn’t be worrying about the difference between fifteen thousand pounds and twelve thousand pounds. Look out, Hugh, the end of your moustache has got back into your porridge.”

The laird of Kilwhillie was trying not to feel optimistic and so kept shaking his head to express a determined defeatism. Hence the erratic behaviour of his moustache.

“The lodge will want a lot doing to it,” he said gloomily.

“Well, that’s what these people like, Hugh. Now, don’t you worry. I’m going for fifteen thousand. And I shall get it.”

Kilwhillie’s hopes and fears were presently left to fend for themselves because the rest of the party were coming in to breakfast.

Carrie had already consulted with her sister-in-law about the problem created by this expedition to Knocknacolly, which she had not expected.

“Keep smiling. I’ll go along and warn your two beaux that the monarch of the glen’s out for their scalps,” Myrtle volunteered.

“It’s terribly sweet of you, Myrtle, but suppose Chester wants you to drive over to Knocknacolly too. And even if Chester doesn’t, Ben Nevis will be peeved if you don’t come, that’s a sure thing.”

“Well, the monarch will just have to be peeved,” said Myrtle. “Now, what do I say to your two beaux?”