Friends and Lovers Read Free Page A

was good enough for her.”
    “I must tell that to Mother,” George said.
    “She is completely baffled by these Highlanders, you know. When we first came here she tried visiting the cottages in the village at Loch Innish, taking the people some fruit from our garden and that sort of thing. But some weeks later they returned the visit, bringing home-made scones and heather honey. It set Mother back for weeks.”
    David let out a roar of laughter, and George joined in eventually. He had the uncomfortable feeling that David was laughing at quite a different side of the story.
    “You do throw yourself into things, old boy, don’t you?” George remarked, when David had recovered.
    “No half-measures for you in anything, it seems.” Then, thinking of his mother, with a hint of guilt for having laughed too, he said, “Might be rather’ nice to bring Mother and Eleanor over here some day. It would be definitely a new experience for them.” David said quickly, “Good God, not that.” And then more slowly, tactfully, “They will be much too busy, anyway.”
    “Yes. One always is busier than one imagines,” George paused. With a sudden flash of sensitivity he said, “Women are such damned snobs, come to think of it. They just couldn’t have tea in a kitchen without feeling all the time that it was the kitchen. Now men, for instance, enjoy a pleasant hour anywhere, and they don’t care where it is as long as it is pleasant.”
    David nodded. He was thinking again of the girl he had met in Mrs. McDonald’s kitchen. Her voice had no Highland intonation. Was she a summer visitor, and where was she staying, anyway? He halted suddenly, and looked back at the village. What an idiotic way to behave, he told himself angrily, and turned quickly to walk on with George.
    They said good-day to two children, an old man, and a young boy. But of the girl with the blue eyes and the dark auburn hair there was no sign.
    Chapter Two.
    DR MACINTYRE AS LORD CHESTERFIELD.
    Silence fell on the pleasant room. Dr. MacLntyre, sitting in his favourite armchair by the side of the large brick fireplace, wondered just how long they had been talking. The conversation had been interesting enough: it was always a delight to hear the news from Oxford, or to catch an echo of his own experiences when he had been an undergraduate, or to watch a young man’s ideas and enthusiasms suddenly reveal themselves in spite of pretended diffidence. For it was the fashion among young men these days to be diffident. But every now and again their natural exuberance would break down the pretence. And a damned good thing, too, Dr. MacLntyre reflected.
    David suddenly thought of looking at his watch. He rose quickly to his feet.
    T’m terribly sorry, sir,” he said. T’ve taken up far too much of your time.
    I had no idea …”
    “Then we both enjoyed the afternoon,” Dr. MacLntyre said tactfully. He rose too, and knocked the ashes from his pipe into the fireplace. He was a tall man, and he still carried himself erectly, but he had become thinner since he had ordered his tweed suit, for it hung loosely on him. His age, in spite of his white hair, was only noticeable in his deliberate movements. His blue eyes were unfaded, and there was youth in them: they were interested and amused. The flesh on his face was firm over the strong bones, and there was a fresh, healthy colour in his cheeks. He had surprised David when they had first met: he gave the impression of vigour and of enjoyment, as if his life had been completely successful and surprisingly entertaining.
    David hesitated, looking round the room, knowing that he really must take his leave and yet regretting to go. It was a room to work and talk and think in, a large room that was friendly and comfortable.
    Bookcases, tightly filled with books —and not all scholarly books either. A piano and a heavily filled music-rack. A wireless-set beside the fireplace.
    A gramophone and a good variety of records. At the