“But we thought you’d like these trophies,” growled Mary.

“These tents must belong to those Scottish Nationalists we saw loafing about by Glenbristle,” said the Chieftain. “Well, that gives us the beat for this afternoon.”

Carrie and Myrtle were eyeing one another across the table in consternation when into the dining-room there floated from without the sound of choric booing.

“What the deuce is that wild hullabaloo?” Ben Nevis shouted.

Toker hurried to the window.

“Some kind of demonstration appears to be proceeding, sir,” the butler informed him.

“Proceeding where?”

“It doesn’t appear to be proceeding anywhere, sir. It’s just proceeding in the courtyard. It’s some kind of gathering.”

The chieftain jumped up from the table and looked out of the window. The sight of him swelled the gathering from a pimple to a fiery carbuncle. The booing doubled and redoubled in volume and above it were heard such derisive epithets as ‘Fascist bully,’ ‘Scotch landgrabber,’ ‘Old Bluenose,’ ‘Tartanface,’ ‘Mussolini,’ and ‘MacBlimp,’ accompanied by arpeggios of shrill and mocking female laughter.

“Donald, Donald,” his wife begged, “don’t expose yourself to this kind of thing. It does no good. Pay no attention and let us get on quietly with our lunch.”

“You infamous riff-raff,” Ben Nevis leant out of the window to bawl at the hikers, who shook their fists at him with cries of ‘Fascist hound,’ ‘Fascist crook,’ ‘Dirty Dictator,’ ‘Stinking Blackshirt,’ and amid catcalls, groans, and hisses, ‘we want Mosley!’

The furious Chieftain was now leaning out of the window like Punch in one of his paroxysms, leaning out so far indeed that the anxious Toker was standing by, ready to snatch at his kilt if necessary to save him from diving head foremost into the courtyard.

“Murdoch! Iain!” Mrs MacDonald exhorted. “Do get your father away from that window. Hugh! Mr Royde! Please use your influence. Mr Fletcher, you know what those dreadful hikers are capable of. Couldn’t you most kindly go down into the courtyard and quieten them?”

“Best thing is to turn the hose on them,” Mary growled.

“Mary, I’m astonished at you,” her mother boomed reproachfully. “After what I said to you and Catriona yesterday evening.”

But above the maternal boom resounded the paternal bellow.

“I defy you, you Bolshie scum! You won’t get off so easily next time.”

Mrs MacDonald now rose from the table and went across to lay a soothing arm upon her furious lord.

“Donald, please remember your dignity and do not argue with these people.”

“But you didn’t hear what they said to me, Trixie. They said they were going to make me learn the meaning of democracy. They actually had the infernal impudence to threaten me with reprisals.”

The memory of this flooded him with fresh rage, and shaking off his wife’s restraining arm he rushed to the window again.