"Get in," he said. "You cannot help troubling me, Mr. McTavish. I've a word for you, sir."
McTavish, wondering, climbed into the car.
"Fergus," said Traquair to the small boy who acted as groom, messenger, and shoe polisher to the local branch of the Bank of Scotland, "ye'll walk."
When the two were thus isolated from prying ears, Mr. Traquair cleared his throat and spoke. "Is there anything, Mr. McTavish," he said, "in this world that a rich man like you may want?"
"Houses--lands?" Traquair looked up shrewdly from the corner of his eye, but McTavish shook his head again.
"No," said McTavish; "I'm sorry, but I'm afraid not."
"Then, sir," said Traquair, "it's a woman."
"No," said McTavish, and he blushed handsomely. "It's _the_ woman."
"I withdraw my insinuation," said Traquair gravely.
"I am glad, sir," said Traquair presently, "to find you in so generous a disposition, for we have need of your generosity. I have it from Miss McTavish herself," he went on gravely, "that your ancestor, so far as you know, was Colland McTavish."
"So far as I know and believe," said McTavish, "he was."
"Did you know that Colland McTavish should have been _The_ McTavish?" asked Mr. Traquair.
"It never entered my head. Was he the oldest son?"
"He was," said Mr. Traquair solemnly, "until in the eyes of the _law_ he ceased to exist."
"Then," said McTavish, "in every eye save that of the law I am _The_ McTavish."
Mr. Traquair bowed. "Miss McTavish," he said, "was for telling you at once; but she left the matter entirely to my discretion. I have thought best to tell you."
"Would the law," asked McTavish, "oust Miss McTavish and stand me in her shoes?"
"The law," said Traquair pointedly, "would not do the former, and," with a glance at McTavish's feet, "the Auld Nick could not do the latter."
McTavish laughed. "Then why have you told me?" he asked.
"Because," said Traquair grandly, "it is Miss McTavish's resolution to make no opposition to your claim."
"I see; I am to become 'The' without a fight."
"Well, discretionary powers as to informing me of this were given you, as I understand, Mr. Traquair?"
"Well," said McTavish again, "there's no use crying over spilt milk. But is your conscience up to a heavy load?"