"They distinguish between the terms in English," put in Vincent.
" – and doctors most of them appear to have been," continued the old man, quite oblivious of interruption: indeed he seemed to be reading something out of his memory, rather than addressing particularly any one of his audience. "A certain Hector Beaton, indeed, got a considerable grant in Islay for having cured one of the Jameses when all the Edinburgh Faculty had failed; and I myself have seen in the island of Iona the tombstone of the last of the Mull doctors of the name, who died so late as 1657. Hic jacet Johannes Betonus Maclenorum familiæ Medicus: no doubt there must be some mention of those Beatons in the archives of the various families of Maclean in Mull. Then I daresay I could get a drawing of the tombstone – though I can remember the inscription well enough. The coat of arms, too, has the three mascles of the Bethunes – "
"Of the Bethunes? – then you are of the same family?" said Mrs. Ellison, this time with a little genuine curiosity.
But the interruption had the effect of rousing him from his historical reverie.
"I would rather say," he observed, with some stiffness, "that they were originally of our family. The Norman de Bethune would easily be changed into the Scotch Beaton."
"Then there was Mary Beaton, of the Queen's Maries," Mrs. Ellison suggested.
But at this the old man frowned: he did not wish any fictitious characters brought into these authentic annals.
"An idle tale – a popular rhyme," said he. "There is no real foundation for the story of Mary Hamilton that ever I could get hold of. Of course there may have been a Mary Beaton at Queen Mary's court – what more likely? – and Mary Beaton would come trippingly to the popular tongue in conjunction with Mary Seton; but that is all. It is with real people, and important people, I shall have to deal when I get to the Advocates Library in Edinburgh."
"Oh, yes, certainly – of course – I quite understand," she said, humbly. And then she rose. "Well, I must be getting back to my friends, Vin, or they will think I have slipped over the side and been drowned."
"But won't you stay to dinner, aunt?" said he. "I wish you would!"
"Oh, no, thanks, I really couldn't," she answered with a sudden earnestness that became more intelligible to him afterwards. "I couldn't run away from my hosts like that." Then she turned to Mr. Bethune and his granddaughter. "By the way," she said, "Lord Musselburgh is coming down to-morrow – merely for the day – and he will be on board the Villeggiatura. Would you all of you like to come along and have a look over the boat; or shall I send him to pay you a visit here?"
It was Maisrie who replied – with perfect self-composure.
"Our acquaintance with Lord Musselburgh is so very slight, Mrs. Ellison," said she, "that it would hardly be worth while making either proposal. I doubt whether he would even remember our names."
Whereupon the young widow bade good-bye to Maisrie with a pretty little smile; the old gentleman bowed to her with much dignity; and then she took her seat in the stern of the gig, while her nephew put out the sculls. When they were well out of hearing, Mrs. Ellison said – with a curious look in her eyes of perplexity and half-frightened amusement —
"Vin, who is that old man?"
"Well, you saw, aunt," he made answer.
"Ob, yes, I saw. I saw. But I am none the wiser. I could not make him out at all. Sometimes I thought he was a self-conceited old donkey, who was simply gabbling at random; and again he seemed really to believe what he was saying, about his connection with those Beatons and de Bethunes and the Scotch kings. But there's something behind it all, Vin; I tell you there is; and I can't make it out. There's something mysterious about him – "
"There's nothing mysterious at all!" he exclaimed, impatiently.
"But who is he, then?" she persisted. "What is he? Where is his family? Where are his relatives?"
"I don't think he has any, if it comes to that, except his granddaughter," her nephew replied.
"What does he do, then? How does he exist?"
He was beginning to resent this cross-examination; but yet he said civilly enough —
"I am not in the habit of making inquiries about the income of everyone I meet; but I understand they have some small sum of money between them – not much: and then he has published books; and he writes for the Edinburgh Weekly Chronicle. Is that enough?"
"Where does he live?"
"In Mayfair."
"I don't believe a word of it!" she said, and she even ventured to laugh in a half-embarrassed way. "I believe he dwells in a cave – he is a troglodyte – he comes out at dusk – and wanders about with a lantern and a pickaxe. Really, when I looked at his shaggy eyebrows, and his piercing eyes, and his venerable beard, I thought he must be some Druid come to life again – or perhaps one of those mythical island-doctors surviving from the fourteenth century – "
"At all events, aunt," Vincent said, with an ominous distinctness of tone, "his age and what he has come through might procure for him a little respect. It isn't like you to jeer and jibe simply because a man is old – "
"My dear boy, I am not jibing and jeering!" she protested. "I tell you I am puzzled. There's something about that old man I can't make out."
"How could you expect to understand anybody – in half-an-hour's talk at Henley Regatta!" he said, indignantly. "I gave you the opportunity of getting to know them both, if only you had come along this evening, and spent some time with them. I am not aware that either of them wants to conceal anything. They are not ashamed of their poverty. Perhaps the old man talks too much: you, at least, pretended to find what he said interesting. And as for the girl, no doubt she was silent: she isn't used to be stared at and examined by critical and unsympathetic eyes."
The young widow elevated her brows: here was something unexpected!
"Vin Harris," she said, solemnly, "are you quarrelling with me because – because I am not glamoured? Is it as bad as that? If so, then I am extremely glad I did not accept your invitation for this evening. I am compromised far enough already – "
"What do you mean by compromised?" he demanded.
But just at this moment she had to call to him to look out, for they had almost arrived at the Villeggiatura. He glanced over his shoulder, pulled a stroke with his right oar, shipped the other, and then, having gripped the stern of the house-boat, he affixed the painter of the gig, and, letting her back fall into the stream, returned to the thwart he had occupied.
"I wish to ask you, aunt," said he, in a sufficiently stiff and formal tone, "how you consider you have been compromised through meeting any friends of mine."
"Oh," said she, half inclined to laugh, yet a little bit afraid too, "don't ask me. It isn't as serious as that – I mean, I didn't think you would take it seriously. No doubt it's all right, Vin, your choosing your own friends; and I have nothing to say against them; only I would rather you left me out, if you don't mind. You see, I don't know your intentions – "
"Supposing I have none?" he demanded again.
"Well, no one can say what may happen," the young widow persisted; "and I should not like to be appealed to – Now, now, Vin, don't be so passionate! – have I said a single word against your new friends? Not one. I only confess that I'm a selfish and comfort-loving woman, and I don't wish to be drawn into any family strife. There may be no family strife? Very well; so much the better. But my having no further acquaintance with Mr. Bethune and Miss Bethune – my having no knowledge of them whatever, for it practically comes to that – cannot injure them; and leaves me free from responsibility. Now don't quarrel with me, Vin; for I will not allow it; I have been talking common sense to you – but I suppose that is what no man of twenty-five understands."
He hauled up the gig to the stern of the house-boat, as an intimation that she could step on board when she chose.
"There," said she, as she gave him her hand in parting, "I see I have offended you; but what I have said has been for your sake as well as mine."
Well, he was vexed, disappointed, and a little inclined to be angry. But all that darkness fled from his spirit – he forgot all about Mrs. Ellison's friendly monitions – he had no care for any speculations as to the future – when he was back again in the White Rose, sitting by Maisrie Bethune, he and she together looking abroad on the gay crowd, and the boats, and the trembling willows, and the slow-moving skies now growing warmer with the afternoon sun. Then, when the last of the races was over, came dinner; and as twilight stole over the river and the meadows, the illuminations began, the rows of coloured lanterns showing one after the other, like so many fire-flies in the dusk. Of course they were sitting outside now – on this placid summer night – in fairyland.
CHAPTER VII.
CLAIRE FONTAINE
But something far more strange and wonderful happened to him the next morning; and that was his first tête-à-tête conversation with Maisrie Bethune. It was quite unexpected, and even unsought; nay, when he stepped outside and found that she was alone on deck, he would have shrank back, had that been possible, rather than break in upon her solitude. For even here at Henley, during the regatta-time, which may be regarded as the High Festival of Joyance and Flirtation, there was no thought of pretty and insidious love-making in this young man's head or heart. There was something mysteriously remote and reserved about this isolated young creature, whose very beauty was of a strangely pensive and wistful kind. Even the gentle self-possession and the wisdom beyond her years she showed at times seemed to him a pathetic sort of thing; he had a fancy that during her childhood she never had had the chance of playing with young children.
But it was too late to retreat; and indeed she welcomed him with a pleasant smile as she bade him good morning. It was he who was embarrassed. He talked to her about the common things surrounding them, while anxiously casting about for something better fitting such a rare opportunity. And at last he said —
"Yes, I am sure your grandfather and I get on very well. And I have been wondering whether, when you and he make that pilgrimage through Scotland, he would let me accompany you."
In her beautiful and child-like eyes there was a swift flash of joy that made his heart leap, so direct and outspoken an expression it was of her gladness to think of such a thing; but instantly she had altered her look, and a faint flush of colour had overspread her face – the pale wild-rose had grown pink.
"Your way of travelling and ours are so different," the said, gently.
"Oh, but," said he, with eagerness, "you don't understand how the idea of a long wandering on foot has fascinated me: why, that would be the whole charm of it! You don't know me at all yet. You think I care for the kind of thing that prevails here – that I can't get on without pine-apples and chairs with gilt backs? Why – but I don't want to talk about myself at all: if you would let me come with you on that pilgrimage you would find out a little. And what an opportunity it will be, to go with your grandfather: history, poetry, and romance all brought together: Scotland will be a wonderful country for you before you have done with it. And – and – you see – I have gone on pedestrian excursions before – I have a pretty broad back – I can carry things. You might engage me as porter; for even when you send your luggage on, there will be a few odds and ends to fill a knapsack with; and I can tramp like any gaberlunzie."
She smiled a little, and then said more seriously —
"I am glad to have the chance of speaking to you about that scheme of my grandfather's; because, Mr. Harris, you must try to dissuade him from it as much as possible."
"Dissuade him?"
"Yes," said she, quietly. "You must have seen how completely my grandfather lives in a world of imagination, and how one thing captivates him after another, especially if it is connected with Scotland and Scottish song. And I have no doubt he would write a beautiful book about such a tour as that; for who knows more about all the places and the legends and ballads? It would be a pleasure for me too – I have dreamed of it many a time. But it is impossible for the present; and it will be a kindness to me, Mr. Harris, if you will not encourage him in it. For the fact is," she continued, with a little embarrassment, "my grandfather has undertaken to write something else – and – and he is under personal obligations about it – and he must not be allowed to forget them."
"Oh, yes, I quite understand," Vincent said. "I have heard of that volume about the Scotch poets in America. Well, you know what your grandfather says, that he would have to go to the other side to collect materials; while, being here in this country just now, he might as well take you to those scenes and places that would make up another book, to be written subsequently. However, I have no doubt you are right. The possibility of my going along with you two on such an excursion has been a wonderful thing for me to speculate on; but whatever you wish, that is enough. I am against the Scotch trip now, so far as I have any right to speak."
She was looking at him enquiringly, and yet diffidently, as if she were asking herself how far she might confide in him.
"Perhaps you have not noticed it, Mr. Harris," she added, still regarding him, "but my grandfather has a strange faculty for making himself believe things. I daresay, if he only planned the American book, he could convince himself that he had written it, and so got rid of those – those obligations. Well, you will help me, will you not? – for I am anxious to see it done; and he may say I am too young and too ignorant to give advice – as I am – "
"Why," said Vincent, almost indignantly, "do you think I cannot see how you guide and lead him always, and with such a tact and wisdom and gentleness as I never beheld anywhere!"
Maisrie flashed downright red this time; but she sought to conceal her confusion by saying quickly —
"Then again you must not misunderstand me, Mr. Harris; you must not think I am saying anything against my grandfather; I am only telling you of one little peculiarity he has. Saying anything against him! – I think I could not well do that; for he has been goodness itself to me since ever I can remember anything. There is nothing he would not sacrifice for my sake; sometimes it is almost painful to me to see an old man, who should be the petted one and the cared for, so ready to give up his own wants and wishes, to please a mere girl who is worthy of no consideration whatever. And consideration is not the word for what I have received from my grandfather always and always; and if I could forget all he has done for me and been to me – if I could be so ungrateful as to forget all those years of affection and sympathy and constant kindness – "
She never finished the sentence. He fancied her eyes were moist as she turned her head away; anyhow he dared not break in upon the silence; these confidences had been sacred things. And indeed there was no opportunity for further speech on this subject; for presently old George Bethune made his appearance, radiant, buoyant, high-spirited, with a sonorous stanza from Tannahill to greet the awakening of the new day.
Now no sooner had Lord Musselburgh arrived on board the Villeggiatura on the same morning than Mrs. Ellison went to him and told him all her story, which very much surprised him, and also concerned him not a little, for it seemed as though he was in a measure responsible for what had happened to Vincent.
"My dear Mrs. Ellison," said he, "I can assure you of one thing: it is quite true that your nephew was in the room when Mr. Bethune and his granddaughter called on me, but I am positively certain that there was no introduction and that he did not speak a single word to them there. How he got to know them I cannot imagine; nor how they could have become so intimate that he should ask them to be his guests down here at Henley. And his sole guests, you say? – Yes, I admit, it looks queer. I hope to goodness there is no kind of entanglement – "
"Oh," said Mrs. Ellison, in sudden alarm; "don't imagine anything from what I have told you I There may be nothing in it: he as good as declared there was nothing in it: and he is so fiery and sensitive – on this one point – why, that is the most serious feature of it all! He looks you straight in the face, and dares you to suspect anything. But really – really – to have those two companions – and no others – on a house-boat at Henley: it is a challenge to the world!"
"Looks rather like it," said Lord Musselburgh; and then he added: "Of course you know that Vin has always been a Quixotic kind of chap – doing impossible things if he thought them right – and all that sort of thing. But it's very awkward just at this moment. There must be some powerful attraction, of one kind or another, to have made him give himself over so completely to these new friends; for he has not been near me of late; and yet here I have in my pocket a letter that concerns him very closely, if only he would pay attention to it. I don't mind telling you, Mrs. Ellison, for you are discretion itself – "
"I think you may trust me, Lord Musselburgh," she said, with a smile.
"Very well, then," said he, lowering his voice. "I hear that there will be a vacancy at Mendover – certainly at the next General Election, but more probably much sooner: old Gosford has become such a confirmed hypochondriac that he will hardly leave his room; and his constituents are grumbling as much as they dare – for he has got money, you know, and the public park he gave them wants further laying out, and statues, and things. Very well; now I have in my pocket a darkly discreet letter from the Committee of the Mendover Liberal Association asking me to go down and deliver an address at their next meeting, and hinting that if I could bring with me an acceptable candidate – "
He paused, and for a second a cynical but perfectly good-humoured laugh appeared in his eyes.
"My dear Mrs. Ellison," said he, "I am deeply grateful. I thought you might express some astonishment at my being consulted in so important an affair. But the fact is, I, also, am expected to do something for that park; and perhaps this invitation was only a little hint to remind me of my local responsibilities. However, that is how the case stands; and I had thought of taking your nephew down with me —
"A vacancy at Mendover," said Mrs. Ellison, in awe-struck tones, "where you are simply everybody! Oh, Lord Musselburgh, what a chance for Vin!"
"And then, you know," continued the young peer, "I want to bring him out as a Tory Democrat, for that is a fine, bewildering sort of thing, that provokes curiosity: you call yourself a Tory and can be as revolutionary as you like, so that you capture votes all round. Why, I've got Vin's programme all ready for him in my pocket: a graduated income-tax, free education, leasehold enfranchisement, compulsory insurance, anything and everything you like except disestablishment – disestablishment won't work at Mendover. Now, you see, Mrs. Ellison, if I could get Vin properly coached, he has all the natural fervour that unhappily I lack; and after I had made my few little jokes which they kindly take for a speech, I could produce him and say 'Here, now, is the young politician of the new generation; here's your coming man; this is the kind of member the next quarter-of-a-century must return to the House of Commons.' But if there is any Delilah in the way – "
Mrs. Ellison crimsoned.
"No, Lord Musselburgh," she said. "No. You need have no fear."
However, she seemed perturbed – perhaps in her anxiety that her nephew should not miss this great opportunity. Presently she said —
"Tell me, what do you know of this old man? – I can't make him out at all."
"I? I know nothing, or next to nothing," he said, lightly, as he gazed abroad on the busy river. "I remember Vin asking me the same question – I suppose out of curiosity about the girl. My recollection of her is that she was extremely pretty – refined-looking – lady-like, in fact – "
"She is, indeed," said Mrs. Ellison, with decision, "and that is what makes the situation all the more dangerous – assuming, of course, that there is any ground for one's natural suspicions. No, Vin is the last man in the world to be captured by any vulgar adventuress; he is at once too fastidious and too proud. But then, you see, he is well known to be the son of a very wealthy man; and there might be a design – " She hesitated for a moment: then she said, half impatiently: "Lord Musselburgh, tell me how you came to know this old man: he could not have sprung out of the earth all of a sudden."
He told her, as briefly as might be.
"That was all?" she repeated, eyeing him shrewdly.
"Yes."
"You are sure?"
"What do you mean? That is really all I know of the old gentleman: isn't that what you asked?"
"But was that the whole of the interview, if I may be so impertinent as to inquire?" she demanded again.
"Ob, yes, it was," Lord Musselburgh said; and then he added, indifferently: "Of course I subscribed something towards the publication of a book he mentioned – he had written to me before about the project."
"Oh, there was money?" she said.
A slight tinge on Lord Musselburgh's forehead showed that he had not intended to make this admission.
"Oh, nothing – a trifle – it is usual when a book is coming out by subscription."
Mrs. Ellison sate silent for a little while: there was plenty going on on the river to interest her companion. Then by-and-bye she said slowly —
"Well, I had intended to keep clear of these new friends of Vin's. I thought it would be more prudent for me to know nothing. It is true, I was introduced to them yesterday afternoon; but I wished that to be all; I thought I would rather withdraw; and let things take their course. But I don't know that that would be honest and right. Vin is a young man with many fine and noble qualities – perhaps a little too fine and noble for the ordinary work-a-day world; and I think he ought to have the benefit of my sadly-earned experience and callous nature – "
Lord Musselburgh laughed: he did not take her too seriously.
"He is my own boy," she continued, "I would do anything for him. And I'm not going to let him be entrapped – if that is what all this means. I know he is very angry with me just now; probably he would not speak to me if he were to meet me this minute; but that won't prevent my speaking to him. I'm going to put my pride in my pocket, Lord Musselburgh. I'm going to find out something more about this picturesque old gentleman, who talks so grandly about the Beatons, and the de Bethunes, and their coats of arms, and who accepts a £10 note – or perhaps only a £5 note? – on account of a book that is not yet published. And if there is any sort of scheme on foot for getting hold of the son of so notoriously wealthy a man as Harland Harris, then I want to make a little inquiry. Yesterday Vin indignantly complained that I was prejudiced, and that I had no right to form any opinion about those friends of his because I would not go along and dine with him and them last evening. Very well, I will go to him, and make up the quarrel, and ask him to repeat the invitation for this evening – "
"For this evening?" repeated Lord Musselburgh, in tones of deep disappointment. "You don't mean you are going to leave all your friends here and go and dine somewhere else?"
"If I can procure an invitation. It is my duty. I'm not going to let my boy be made a fool of, even if I have to sacrifice a little of my own personal comfort."
"Yes, that's all very well," said Lord Musselburgh, gloomily, "but I did not bargain for your going away like that on the only evening I shall be here. If I had known – "
He was on the point of saying he would not have come down: but that would have been too bold an avowal. He suddenly hit upon another happy suggestion.
"You said that Vin had only those two on board with him? Well, if he asks you to dine with him, won't he ask me too?"
Mrs. Ellison laughed, and shook her head.
"No, no. Another stranger would put them on their guard. I must manage my Private Investigation all by myself. But you need not look so disconsolate. There are some really nice people here, as you'll find out by-and-bye; and the Drexel girls are driving over from Great Marlow – they are Americans, so you will be properly appreciated: they will try their best to make you happy."
"How late shall you stay on board Vin's boat?" he asked, heedless of these smaller attractions.
"I shall be back here by ten – perhaps by half-past nine."
"Is that a promise?"
"Yes, it is – ten at latest."
"Otherwise I should go back to town in the afternoon," said he, frankly.
"What nonsense!" the young widow exclaimed (but she did not seem resentful). "Well, now, I must go along to the White Rose, and make my peace, and angle for an invitation; and then, if I get it, I must concoct my excuses for Mrs. Lawrence. Anyhow I shall be on board the Villeggiatura all the afternoon; and then I hope to have the pleasure of introducing you to Louie Drexel – that is the young lady I have designed for Vin, when he has shaken off those adventurers and come to his right mind."
Almost immediately thereafter Mrs. Ellison had secured a boatman to pull her along to the White Rose; and as she drew near, she perceived that Maisrie Bethune was alone in the stern of the house-boat, standing upright on the steering-thwart, and with both hands holding a pair of field-glasses to her eyes – an unconscious attitude that showed the graceful figure of the girl to the best advantage.
The observant visitor could also remark that her costume was simplicity itself: a blouse of white soft stuff, with wide sleeves and tight cuffs; a belt of white silk round her waist; and a skirt of blue serge. She wore no head-covering; and her neatly-braided hair caught several soft-shining hues from the sun – not a wonder and glory of hair, perhaps, (as Vin Harris would have deemed it) but very attractive all the same to the feminine eye, and somehow suggestive of girlhood, and making for sympathy. And then, when a "Good-morning!" brought round a startled face and a proud, clear look that was nothing abashed or ashamed, Mrs. Ellison's conscience smote her that she had made use of the word adventuress, and bade her wait and see.
"Good-morning!" Maisrie Bethune answered; and there came a touch of colour to the fine and sensitive features as she knew that the young matron was regarding her with a continuation of the curiosity of the preceding afternoon.
"Have the gentlemen deserted you? Are you all alone?" Mrs. Ellison said.
"Oh, no; they are inside," was the response. "Would you like to see Mr. Harris? Shall I call him?"
"If you would be so kind!" – and therewith Maisrie disappeared into the saloon, and did not return.
It was Vincent that came out – with terrible things written on his brow.
"Don't look at me like that, Vincent Harris!" Mrs. Ellison exclaimed, half-laughing and half-annoyed. "What have I done? It is you who are so hasty and inconsiderate. But I've come to make it all up with you; and to ask you to ask me to dine with you to-night."
"No, thank you, aunt," he said, civilly enough. "You are very kind; but the fact is you would come with a prejudice; and so you'd better not come at all."
Well, she had to be circumspect; for not only was her own boatman behind her, but there was a possibility of some stray sentence penetrating into the saloon.
"Come," she said, in a sort of undertone, to him; and she had a pretty, coaxing, goodnatured way with her when she chose, "I am not going to allow you to quarrel with me, Vin; and I bring a flag of truce; and honourable proposals. I saw you were offended with me last evening; and perhaps I was a little selfish in refusing your invitation; but you see I confess the error of my ways, for here I am begging you to ask me again."
"Oh, if you put it that way, aunt – "
"Oh, no, I don't put it that way!" she said. "Not if you speak like that. Come, be amiable! I've just been talking to Lord Musselburgh – "
"And, of course, you crammed all your wild ideas into his head!" he exclaimed.
"Whoever heard of poor me having ideas!" she said, with a winning good-humour to which he could not but yield. "It isn't for me to have ideas; but I may have prejudices; and I'm going to leave them, all on board the Villeggiatura this evening, if you say yes."
"Of course I say yes – when you are like yourself, aunt," he responded at once, "and I shall be very glad indeed. And what is more," said he, in a still lower tone, "when you have really met – certain people – and when you have to confess that you have been unjust, I don't mean to triumph over you. Not a bit. If you have done any injustice, you know yourself how to make it up – to them. Now that's all right and settled: and I'm really glad you're coming. Seven o'clock; and the dress you've got on."
"Oh, but, mind you," said she, "you don't seem to appreciate my goodness in humbling myself so as to pacify your honourable worship. Do you know what I shall have to do besides? How am I to explain to the Lawrences my running away from their party? And here is Lord Musselburgh come down; and the Drexel girls are expected; so you see what I am doing for you, Vin – "
"You're always good to me, aunt – when you choose to be reasonable and exercise your common-sense – "
"Common-sense!" she retorted, with a malicious laugh in her eyes. Then she said, quite seriously: "Very well, Vin: seven o'clock: that is an excellent hour, leaving us all a nice long evening; for I must get back to the Villeggiatura early."
And so that was all well and amicably settled. But Master Vin, though young in years, had not tumbled about the world for nothing; and a little reflection convinced him that his pretty aunt's change of purpose – her abandonment of her resolve to remain discreetly aloof – had not been prompted solely, if at all, by her wish to have that little misunderstanding between him and her removed. That could have been done at any time; a few words of apology and appeal, and there an end. This humble seeking for an invitation which she had definitely refused the day before meant more than that; it meant that she had resolved to find out something further about these strangers. Very well, then, she was welcome: at the same time he was resolved to receive this second visit not as he had received the first. He was no longer anxious about the impression these two friends of his might produce on this the first of his relatives to meet them. She might form any opinion she chose: he was indifferent. Nay, he would stand by them on every point; and justify them; and defy criticism. If he had dared he would have gone to Maisrie and said: "My aunt is coming to dinner to-night; but I will not allow you to submit yourself to any ordeal of inspection. You shall dress as you like, as carelessly or as neatly as you like; you shall wear your hair hanging down your back or braided up, without any thought of her; you shall be as silent as you wish – and leave her, if she chooses, to call you stupid, or shy, or sulky, or anything else." And he would have gone to the old man and said: "Talk as much and as long as ever you have a mind; you cannot babble o' green fields too discursively for me; I, at all events, am sufficiently interested in your claims of proud lineage, in your enthusiasm about Scotland and Scottish song, in your reminiscences of many lands. Be as self-complacent and pompous as you please; fear nothing; fear criticism least of all." And perhaps, in like manner, he would have addressed Mrs. Ellison herself: "My dear aunt, it is not they who are on their trial, it is you. It is you who have to show whether you have the courage of honest judgment, or are the mere slave of social custom and forms." For perhaps he, too, had imbibed a little of the "Stand Fast, Craig Royston!" spirit? Bravado may be catching – especially where an innocent and interesting young creature of eighteen or so is in danger of being exposed to some deadly approach.