It would not have been easy for Jean to set about any very elaborate
preparations for the reception of the expected guest, without attracting
the notice of her sister, who was to know nothing of his coming
beforehand. Happily no special preparation was needed in her
well-regulated household, for within a shorter time than seemed possible
after her father's letter of invitation had been sent, he made his
appearance at Saughleas.
He had reached the town at night, and presented himself at the bank in
the morning before Mr Dawson had reached it. They missed each other as
he took his way to Saughleas, and Jean was the only one there to receive
him. The day was mild and dry, and May and young Corbett had set off
immediately after breakfast, on an expedition to the Castle.
Jean was in the garden, intent on hastening the completion of certain
changes that had been commenced in the arrangement of flower beds and
shrubbery, indeed putting her own hands to the work of clipping and
transplanting under proper direction and authority. She saw the
stranger the moment he opened the gate, and stood still in her place
behind a sheltering fir-tree, regarding him as he came slowly round the
drive.
She saw a pleasant face, with something of the pallor of the student
upon it--not handsome, but a good, true face, she thought as he came
nearer. He was tall, as her father had said, and he stooped a little;
but it was not a round-shouldered stoop, rather a slight inclining
forward as he walked, such as short-sighted people are apt to fall into
unawares. Certainly he was "not to call old."
A scholar and a gentleman, her father had said. He was all that, or his
looks belied him, Jean told herself as he came slowly forward.
He stood for a moment looking up into the sky through the lovely
mingling of faint colours made by the swelling buds and opening leaves
in the tops of the great beeches, and Jean's impulse was to come forward
at once and give him welcome. But she looked at her gloves, and at her
thick shoes soiled with the garden mould, and at her linsey gown too
short to hide them, and she thought of her sister, and "these fastidious
English folk," and the "credit of the family," and so went swiftly round
the house, and in at the back door, and up to her own room.
She did not linger over her toilette, however. By the time Phemie came
to announce the stranger's arrival, the stately young mistress of the
house was ready in her pretty house dress of some dim purple stuff to go
down and receive him. She went with more shyness than stateliness,
however, being conscious of the object of his coming, and entered so
quietly, that he did not move from the window out of which he was
gazing, till she had come near him. He turned quickly at the sound of
her voice.
"Is it--Mr Manners?" said she, offering her hand. "You expected me
then?"
"Yes. Papa told _me_ you were coming."
"And you are Jean? And you will be my friend?" Jean's eyes met his
frankly and very gravely for a moment, and then she said softly,--
"Yes. I think I may promise to be your friend."
If she could put any trust in the face as an index of character, she
might surely promise that, she thought. She waited a moment, expecting
that he would ask for her sister. He did not, but stood looking at her
in a silence that must have become embarrassing if it had continued
long. So she offered breakfast, which he declined. Then she expressed
her regret that he should have missed her father, but she would send at
once to tell him of his arrival.
This was not necessary, however. Mr Dawson having heard of Mr
Manners' arrival at the bank, returned home immediately; but they were
already in the dining-room, before May and young Corbett appeared. They
went in the back way and passed through Beckie's kitchen.
"Eh! Miss May! What can ha'e keepit you? Miss Dawson has been muckle
putten aboot. Your papa's come hame and a strange gentleman wi' him.
Na, it's naebody ye need to heed. Was't Peters they ca'ed him, Phemie?
It's luncheon and nae dinner--so you can just go ben as ye are. Ye
couldna look better or bonnier though ye were to change your gown and
tak' an hour to do it. And Miss Dawson was sair putten aboot."
So with no warning as to whom she was to see, flushed and laughing, and
submitting to be made a crutch by the recovering and adventurous Hugh,
May entered the dining-room.
"It was hardly fair upon her," her father thought, and Jean turned pale
with vexation that it so should have happened. But she need not have
been afraid. After the first startled glance, and rush of colour, May
met her friend with a gentle dignity which left nothing to be desired in
her sister's opinion. Mr Manners was to all appearance less
self-possessed than she was, and his greetings were brief and grave.
All were for some time in a state of restrained excitement that made
conversation not easy, till Hugh came to the rescue by referring to Mr
Dawson the decision of some point which had fallen under discussion
during the morning's ride, on which Miss May and he had disagreed. It
had reference to a circle of stones in the neighbourhood, said to be of
Druidical origin, and Hugh stated the difference of opinion clearly and
fairly enough. Mr Dawson could give no light on the subject, however,
and smiled at the idea of attaching any importance to the question.
"And besides," said May gently, but with an air of wishing to put an end
to the matter, "I told you I did not hold any opinion with regard to
them."
But Hugh, in his persistent way, refused to let it so end; and Jean,
glad of any thing rather than silence, added her word, hoping that they
might some time during the summer go to see the "Stanes."
"But, Miss May," continued Hugh, "though you said you did not know
yourself, you gave authority for your opinion--at least as far as
similar circles elsewhere are concerned. And was it not?--Yes, it was
Mr Manners that you said had told you--"
Jean laughed. She could not help it. May grew red as a rose. Then Mr
Manners took up the word, and there was no more uncomfortable silence
after that; and Hugh heard more concerning this new subject of interest
than he would be likely to hear again for many a day.
Before they rose from the table, Mr Dawson was called away by some one
who wished to see him on business, and Hugh, with Jean for his crutch
this time, betook herself to his room to rest and be out of the way.
May went to the parlour with Mr Manners, intending only to show him the
way and then go to her own room to change her habit for her house dress;
but when Jean came back again, May was in the room still, and the door
was shut.
Jean stood looking at it for a moment, with the strangest mingling of
emotions--joy for her sister, sorrow for herself--a feeling as if the
old familiar life were come to an end, and a new life beginning; nay, as
if the very foundations of things were being removed.
"We can never be the same again--never," she said, with a sharp touch of
pain at her heart. "I have lost my bonny May."
It was foolish to be grieved, it was worse than foolish to be angry, at
the thought of change; but she knew that if she were to look closely
into her heart, she would find both grief and anger there.
"I canna help it, but I needna yield to it," she said; and then she
turned resolutely toward the kitchen, where Beckie was awaiting
necessary directions with regard to dinner.
She lingered over her arrangements, and by and by put her own hands to
some of them, for she found it impossible to settle quietly to any
thing, though she told herself that her restlessness was foolish and not
to be excused. It took her out of the house at last, and down the walk
past the well and through the wood, where she had many times gone during
the last few months to the most sweet and peaceful spot in all the
world, she thought--where her mother and her little brother and sisters
lay; and here, after a while, her father found her. He was not free
from restlessness either, it seemed. Jean rose as he drew near.
"Where is your sister? Should you have left her?" asked he doubtfully.
Jean shook her head and laughed.
"They shut the door upon me."
"Ay! He's in earnest, yon lad. You like him, Jean? Though it's soon
to ask."
"Not too soon. I liked him the first glance I got of him. He has a
good, true face. Yes; I like him."
"It doesna take you long to make up your mind," said her father
laughing. But he was evidently pleased. "You dinna like his errand?
Well that was hardly to be expected. But if it hadna been him, it would
have been another, and we should have lost her all the same. And it
might have been worse."
"Yes, it might have been worse."
Jean was thinking what her father's feelings would have been had May's
troth been plighted to Willie Calderwood. But her father was thinking
that it would have been worse for him to-day had it been for Jean that
the stranger had asked.
"It will be your turn next," said he with a sad attempt at jesting.