THE DUKE VISITS STAIR FOR THE FIRST TIME
On my return to Stair I found Nancy on the south steps with a letter in
her hand. In her white frock, with her hair bobbing in a bunch of curls
on the top of her head, she looked scarce older than the day I had
found her there "making verses" years agone.
"You went away," she said, with reproach in her tone.
"Guess whom I fell in with," I answered.
She hesitated a minute.
"Robin," said I.
"Robin who?" she inquired.
"Who but Robin Burns?"
"Oh, did ye?" she cried, her face aglow on the instant; "did ye, Jock?
Why didn't ye bring him back with ye?"
"He's for Ayr this afternoon," I answered; "but he sent a word to ye,"
and I gave her the card in Burns' own hand.
"That's funny," she said, putting it in the bosom of her gown, and she
went on after a bit of musing, "if he swap his rhyming ware for mine it
will be a losing bargain for him."
Before I had time to answer, Dandy Carmichael came in view with a troop
of dogs at his heels, and at sight of him I recalled an arrangement
made the evening before to have a tea drinking on the lawn, and that he
was bidden to luncheon to help with the cards of invitation.
The rest of the day was spent with pen and ink and address books, and
this jostle of circumstance put the Burns meeting out of my mind
entirely, nor did I mention it to Danvers one way or another, which
turned out to be a more unfortunate occurrence than I can tell.
On the day set for the festivity Danvers came early, with the Arran
grooms behind him carrying flowers from the conservatories for the
decoration of the great hall, and all of the morning the house was
filled with gay young voices and merry preparations for the
entertainment of friends. Stands of scarlet droopers were set on the
porch, the hot-house flowers being placed against the tapestry and the
old armor; bowls of drink were brewed and set to cool, and two o'clock
found Dame Dickenson in sober black silk, with a canny eye for the
refreshments, and myself in black as well, and a state of what might be
described as pleasurable anxiety.
Dandy's last words to Nancy before leaving to bring the Erskines back
with him were these: "You are to look your very best; I desire the Hon.
Mrs. Erskine struck mute with admiration," and when she came down the
stairs I could but think that she had taken his counsel to heart,
whether because she was to meet "her rival," as she laughingly called
Isabel Erskine, or by reason of the expected presence of his Grace of
Borthwicke, I was far from deciding.
She wore a huge black hat and a black lace gown, with a kerchief tied
in front and falling near to the ground. Her gloves were black as well,
coming almost to the shoulder, her only touch of color being a cluster
of roses in the knot of lace upon her bosom.
"How handsome you are, Jock Stair," she said, coming toward me. "How
handsome you are! I did well when I selected you for a father," she
finished with a laugh.
The Arran party were among the first to arrive, and in spite of the
restless character of the entertainment I found time for a short talk
with Isabel Erskine, a modishly attired, fair girl, with round blue
eyes and many meaningless phrases, for which I saw no necessity. She
had one sincere emotion in her life, however; one which she took small
pains to conceal, and this was an infatuation for Danvers Carmichael.
It was he who presented the two young women to each other, and I noted
with pride the bearing of my daughter at this meeting, for she was
genuinely glad to meet Miss Erskine, and with much gentleness and
gravity explained the reasons which had prevented her from coming over
the day before to pay her respects. Isabel, who was not at her ease,
responded that Danvers had told them how busy every one was at Stair,
and that the omission of a visit on Nancy's part was, under the
circumstances, but natural.
That Isabel Erskine did not like Nancy I knew on the instant I saw them
together, and that Nancy was unaware of it, and would have cared
nothing about her dislike had she known of it, was a thing of which I
was equally certain.
The pretty picture of the gaily gowned ladies with their furbelows and
parasols in shifting groups under the beeches, the sunlight falling
through the leaves in broken golden shapes upon the shining silks and
satins of the dresses, the merry chatter of the younger folk and the
more demure coquetry of the older ones, are still a pleasant picture in
my memory of that far-by day.
Upon a demand from some of the guests to see the "lace school," and the
labor teaching as well, Danvers took it on himself to act as conductor
of these merry inquisitive parties, and the wonder and interest of the
ladies in the school was remarkable to see; and I recall now that Mrs.
Opie made her first visit to the burn that afternoon, and within a
month had planned her written work concerning it.
It was nearly four before the Duke of Borthwicke arrived, Hugh Pitcairn
and Sir Patrick Sullivan coming with him, unannounced, through the west
entrance.
His grace looked younger than he did at the time of our last meeting:
but his eyes were the same; misty, unholy, and bland. He wore gray
cloth of the same accented plainness, and from the time of his entrance
stood with his head uncovered in an attitude of great deference to the
women-folk; a bearing which accorded poorly with the tales afloat
concerning the manner of his private life.
To us, who for the most part knew London but by name, the bearing of
this celebrated personage was a matter for interest and study, and if
it were in my power to set him forth as he showed himself to us that
day there would be none of fair judgment who could blame Nancy for her
conduct toward him afterward I can affirm that never from the moment
that his eyes fell on her did he remove them from her face. He was
accosted by several gentlemen in his progress toward us, but it was
with a fixed glance of absorbed admiration of her that he answered
them, curtly, as I thought, and as one who brooks no interruption.
Crossing the space toward us he came alone, the forward poise of the
body, and more than all the power of his head and chest, fixing the
idea I already had of a splendid kind of devil who would make
ill-fortune for any who crossed him.
"It is a great pleasure to see you again," he said, bowing low before
Nancy.
"You have been away a long time," she answered.
"The longest month that I have ever spent," he returned.
"The Highlands were not merry?" she asked.
"I had no heart for them."
"No?" she said. "I am sorry."
"I should rather, were it mine to choose, that you were glad to have me
find them dull," he answered.
"Would that be quite friendly?" she inquired, with a smile of
intentional misunderstanding.
"I am scarce asking for friendship," he returned, and there was no
mistaking the intent of either word or eye.
"By the way," he continued, "I have ridden half over Scotland and laid
by four horses to be here this afternoon; for which," he added, with
the little outward wave of his hand which became him so well, "I am
claiming no merit; for is there a man who knows you who would have done
otherwise?"
A look passed between them, a look which I was at a complete loss to
understand, as she answered, with a laugh:
"I think Mr. Pitcairn might successfully have struggled with the
temptation of laming horses to see me."
"But," the duke retorted, "as you told me yourself on that memorable
night we first met, 'Pitcairn's not rightly a man; he's just a head.'"
"In many ways," responded Nancy, and her eyelids drooped at her own
audacity, "in many ways he reminds me of you, your grace!"
The duke smiled back at her with a little drawing together of the
eyelids, which I had learned to know so well.
"I have," he said, "nearly a fortnight to spend in Edinburgh, in which
I shall make it the effort of my life to show you the difference
between us."