Mrs. Noyes was also listening.

"Tinted pearls, are they? I wonder what colour?"

"Pinkish—to the best of my recollection."

"Pink pearls!" Caryl clasped her hands again. "They must be lovely. And I may wear them, may I not? Just for the one night!"

He smiled now in giving consent; she looked so pretty and childish in her eagerness.

"Yes, you shall have them for the dance. They may only be worn by a MacIvor. An odd provision, is it not; but it is in the deed, which also says they must not be taken out of the castle. But now you are married, you are a MacIvor, Caryl. So that will be all right."

It is said that lookers on see most of the game. Mrs. Noyes, looking and listening, was aware that Noel, who also listened, was rendered uneasy by his wife's request. He was on the edge of a protest, Mrs. Noyes thought, but Sir Ian made a slight repressive sign. Caryl the bride was to have her way. Other MacIvor brides had worn the pearls, but they were wedded to the head of the house, and not to a younger son. Noel was aware that Ian thought himself too poor to marry: was it in the elder brother's mind that Caryl in the future would have the right to the pearls as the reigning lady of Dunowe.

"Could you let me see them to-night?" Caryl persisted.

"And may I see them too?" put in Mrs. Noyes. "I admire pearls, and I may not be here when Mrs. Mclvor wears them at the dance. Our plans are uncertain. I daresay Reginald told you--?"

No, Noyes had said nothing: in fact he had had no opportunity since the conversation in the bedroom. Sir Ian hoped, conventionally, that nothing would hurry them away so soon. In the husband's case, it would be with him a genuine matter of regret, but he would be able to spare Mrs. Flossie with perfect equanimity. He had no great liking for the lady: the surface of her was smooth enough, but he had an instinctive feeling that something unpleasant might be encountered underneath. He would be happy, he said, to show the pearls to both ladies, if they would honour him by paying a visit to his "den."

While dinner was in progress the wind was rising, buffetting round the many angles and turrets of the house; and now and then there was a roar in the wide chimney of the hall. It was evident that Lady MacIvor was listening, and listening with apprehension, though was it not the saying that when the ghost wind blew in the castle, the outer and mundane weather was wont to be a dead calm? The old dame was never high-coloured—(old she was, to be the mother of those two stalwart sons). Hers was the ivory pallor of age, but a change of tint might have been noted on her cheek and lips, as she sat at the head of the table trying spasmodically to converse. On observing this, Sir Ian remarked, in a voice so far raised as to be sure to catch her ear:

"We are going to have a wild night of it. I could have forecasted as much when we were out today. The equinoctial gales have given us the go-by this year, but now it seems as if one of them was setting in in earnest."

Only an equinoctial gale, a natural feature, and Ian cheerful in the forecast.