DOWAGER.

Yes.

LADY TWOMBLEY.

He's thirty, if he's an hour.

DOWAGER.

He's more. But he is a fine example of the grand simplicity that exists in many Scottish families. Proprietor of eighty thousand acres, head of a great clan, Colin Macphail of Ballocheevin remains a child attached to his mother.

LADY TWOMBLEY.

Oh, I shall be very happy to----

DOWAGER.

Ah, you grasp my motive!

LADY TWOMBLEY.

No, I don't.

DOWAGER.

[In LADY TWOMBLEY's ear.] _Imogen._

LADY TWOMBLEY.

Imogen?

DOWAGER.

Imogen _must_ make a match this season and marry before the year is out.

LADY TWOMBLEY.

Why?

DOWAGER.

Don't deceive yourself, Kate Twombley. You are aware that Julian's position in the Ministry is precarious?

LADY TWOMBLEY.

You think so?

DOWAGER.

Everybody thinks so. It's my opinion they'll make a Jonah of him and cast him from them before many months are over. You know what that means?

LADY TWOMBLEY.

Horrible! Julian giving up public life and settling down in some dismal swamp as a country gentleman. He has threatened it.

DOWAGER.

Very well then; you must a.s.sure your children's future before the blow falls. What could you do for Imogen in the country?

LADY TWOMBLEY.

A vicar or a small squire.

DOWAGER.

More likely a curate or a farmer. Will you resign yourself to that?

LADY TWOMBLEY.

Never, Dora! I never will! I've had to swallow the husks of London and my chicks shall have the barley. Julian _shall_ hold on till they have made brilliant marriages!

DOWAGER.

Ah!

LADY TWOMBLEY.

He shall! Afterwards I'll go back to darning stockings with a light heart.

DOWAGER.

Well spoken, Kate Twombley!

[PROBYN appears at the entrance.]

PROBYN.

Sir Colin and Lady Macphail.

DOWAGER.

[To LADY TWOMBLEY.] You see my motive?

LADY TWOMBLEY.

Yes, Dora.

[LADY MACPHAIL and SIR COLIN enter--she a simple little old woman in Court dress, ecstatically sentimental; he a formidable-looking bearded man about six feet high, in full Highland costume, bashful and awkward in manner, and keeping close to his mother.]