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unnecessary for him to answer.
    Mr Buggins and Walter were getting on like a house on fire.
    ‘Curious,’ observed Mr Buggins, ‘for a house party of this size in Scotland to consist entirely of Sassenachs – seven men and not one kilt among them. I have the right, of course, to wear the Forbes tartan through my maternal grandmother, but I always think it looks bad with an English name, don’t you agree?’
    ‘Very bad,’ said Walter. ‘But you could wear it as a fancy dress, I suppose?’
    ‘The kilt, my dear sir, is not a fancy dress.’
    ‘My wife is Scottish; her father is Lord Craigdalloch’s brother.’
    ‘Yes, of course, Johnnie. Such an interesting family, the Dallochs; one of the oldest in Scotland.’
    ‘Really?’
    ‘Considering that you are allied to them by marriage it surprises me that you should not be aware of that. Why, the cellars of this castle date from the tenth century. I suppose you know how it came to be built here?’
    ‘I’m afraid I don’t.’
    ‘Well, the first Thane of Dalloch had no castle and one daywhen he was getting old he thought he would build himself a solid dwelling-place instead of the shieling or hut that had been his headquarters up to then. So he went to consult a wise woman who lived in a neighbouring shieling. He told her what was in his mind and asked where would be the best place for him to build his castle. She replied, “When you find a
bike
1 in a
birk
, 2
busk
3 there the
bauk
.” 4
    ‘The story goes that as he was walking away from the old woman’s shieling he was stung by a wasp. He looked high and low for the
bike
, intending to destroy it, and presently found it in a
birk
. Instantly he recalled the witch’s words. The next day he
busked
the
bauk
and soon a bonnie castle rose round the
birk
, which you can see to this very day in the cellars. To me, all these old legends are so fascinating.’
    He then proceeded to tell Walter the whole history of the Dalloch family down to the present generation. Walter found it extremely dull and wondered how anyone could be bothered to remember such stuff, but he thought Mr Buggins quite a nice old bore and tried to listen intelligently.
    Albert was now struggling with Lady Brenda, who was far more difficult to get on with than Lady Prague. Being a duke’s daughter she was always spoken of as having so much charm. The echo of this famous charm had even reached as far as Paris, and Albert was eagerly anticipating its influence upon himself.
    He was doomed to immediate disappointment, finding that besides being an unusually stupid woman she had less sex appeal than the average cauliflower; and when, in the course of conversation, he learnt that her two children were called Wendy and Christopher Robin, his last hope of being charmed vanished for ever.
    She told him that Lady Craigdalloch, her godmother, was improving the whole house, bit by bit.
    ‘This year all the oak on the staircase has been pickled. Of course, it takes time as they are not well off, but Madge has such good taste. You should have seen the drawing-room before she redecorated it: a hideous white room with nothing but Victorian furniture, bead stools and those horrible little stiff sofas. It was my mother who suggested painting it green. Of course it is really lovely now.’
    ‘You have known the house a long time?’ he asked, stifling a groan.
    ‘Oh, yes, since I was a child. We spent our honeymoon here.’
    ‘I hope,’ said Albert, ‘in the lovely bed which Sally is occupying at present. I thought when I saw it how perfect for a honeymoon.’
    Lady Brenda looked horrified. Luckily at this moment Sally got up and the women left the dining-room.
    As soon as the door was shut upon them, Admiral Wenceslaus monopolized the conversation, holding forth on his favourite subject: Blockade. Walter and Albert, who had a hazy idea that a blockade was a sort of fence behind which the white men retired when pursued by Red Indians, now learnt that, on