[MACPHAIL enters with MRS. GAYl.u.s.tRE, he in Highland dress, she wearing a showy costume of tweed tartan with a Scotch bonnet.]

LADY MACPHAIL.

Colin, lad!

MACPHAIL.

Eh, mother?

MRS. GAYl.u.s.tRE.

Dear Sir Colin gave me his arm to the top of Ben-Auchter.

DOWAGER and LADY MACPHAIL.

To the top of Ben-Auchter!

MACPHAIL.

[With an anxious glance at MRS. GAYl.u.s.tRE.] Just to see the sun rise.

DOWAGER.

[Quietly to SIR JULIAN.] Julian, that's scandalous!

LADY MACPHAIL.

I thought you always witnessed the sun rise alone, Colin.

MACPHAIL.

As a rule, mother.

DOWAGER.

[To herself.] That woman has a motive.

LADY MACPHAIL.

[Pointing to IMOGEN.] My son, look--here is Imogen.

MACPHAIL.

[To IMOGEN.] Good-morning.

LADY MACPHAIL.

Colin, lad, don't you guess?

MACPHAIL.

No, mother.

LADY MACPHAIL.

[Rapturously.] Now let the worn banner of the Macphail be run up on the crumbling tower of Castle Ballocheevin!

MACPHAIL.

[Vacantly.] For what reason, mother?

LADY MACPHAIL.

Now let the shriek of the wild birds sound on the sh.o.r.es of Loch-na-Doich!

MACPHAIL.

Why?

LADY MACPHAIL.

[Embracing MACPHAIL.] Imogen is to be your bride.

MACPHAIL.

[Blankly.] Oh!

[SIR JULIAN, the DOWAGER, and LADY EUPHEMIA congratulate him.]

SIR JULIAN TWOMBLEY.

Most gratified!

DOWAGER.

I have a mother's yearnings toward you.

LADY EUPHEMIA VIBART.

We are _too_ rejoiced!

MRS. GAYl.u.s.tRE.

[To herself.] They've hooked him!

LADY MACPHAIL.

[Bringing MACPHAIL down.] Hush! Speak to her, Colin, lad. Let her hear how a Macphail greets the woman of his choice.