Ainslie, the owner of some quarries in the vicinity, was a middle-aged man whom she had met once or twice before.
When she had greeted him, she stood still a moment or two, listening to the murmurs of general conversation.

Then she saw Kinnaird, who was standing not far from her, take out his watch.
"It's a little too bad of Weston.

I shouldn't have waited for anybody else," he said.

"As it is, I suppose we'll have to give him a minute or two longer." The remark was evidently overheard, as perhaps Kinnaird intended.

One of the others laughed.
"Ralph Weston was never punctual in his life," he said.
"Considering everything," observed one of the women standing near Ida, "it is rather curious that Weston should have promised to come at all.
It must be a trifle embarrassing to dine at one's own place as another man's guest." "Oh," said the man beside her, "Weston would go anywhere for a good dinner and a good glass of wine." Ida, as it happened, had not heard what guests Mrs.Kinnaird had expected, and she started at the name.