It would doubtless have been agreeable to Mr Dawson had Mr Manners
been a richer man than he seemed to be, but he did not allow even to
Miss Jean, that this want of money was a serious drawback to the
satisfaction he felt in consenting to his daughter's marriage.
"He is a man whom I like much, and money is a secondary consideration,"
said he.
"That's true," said Miss Jean.
"Not that he is without means, and he has a good professional income.
They will do very well. It is true I havena kenned him long, as ye say;
and I dare say ye think I have been in haste with my consent. But just
wait a wee. He'll ha'e your good word. For ye ken a man when ye see
him."
"If they truly love one another--that is the chief thing."
Mr Dawson laughed.
"They do that."
"And what does Jean say?"
"She'll tell you herself. There has been little time to say any thing.
He is to be brought over to see you to-day. I wished to send for you,
but Jean said it was more becoming that he should come to you. Jean has
her ain notions about most things."
"Ay, she has that."
"And ye'll come hame with them to Saughleas? There are two or three
things that I would like to have a word with you about. And ye'll be
sure to come."
But Miss Jean did not promise. She liked best to be at Saughleas when
there were no strangers there, she said. Mr Dawson was ready to resent
her calling Mr Manners a stranger, so she said nothing. The matter
could be decided afterwards.
Probably Jean was only thinking of what was due to her aunt, when she
insisted on taking their new friend to make her acquaintance in her own
house. But it was a wise thing to do for other reasons than Miss Jean's
"dignity," which her niece might very well have left to take care of
itself.
The house was like herself,--quiet, simple, unpretending, but with a
marked character of its own; and no one could fail to be impressed with
his first glimpse of Miss Jean, sitting in her quaint parlour, with its
shelves of brown old books, its great work-basket, and its window
looking to the sea. She was an old woman now, and not very strong; but
the inward calm which earthly trouble had no power to disturb, had kept
disfiguring wrinkles from her face, and the soft wavy hair that showed
under her full-bordered cap was still more brown than grey.
Some who had known Miss Jean all her life declared that she was far more
beautiful at sixty than she had ever been in her youth. And naturally
enough. For a life of glad service to a loving Master, a helpful,
hopeful, self-forgetful doing of good as opportunity is given, for His
sake, tell on the countenance as on the character; and the grave
cheerfulness, the trustful peace that rested on the old woman's face
were beautiful to those who had eyes to see.
It was not May, but Miss Dawson, who came with the visitor that morning.
"Auntie Jean, I have brought Mr Manners to see you," said she coming in
unannounced.
Miss Jean received them kindly, but with a certain gravity.
"Yes, your father has been here. He told me who was coming," said she,
and her eyes sought Jean's gravely and earnestly. Jean nodded and
smiled, carrying her aunt's look to the face of Mr Manners.
"Yes, auntie, that is the way of it." Then Miss Jean gave him her hand
again. "The Lord keep and guide you both. And the Lord deal with you
as ye shall deal with the bairn that is willing to leave her father's
house to go with you."
"Amen!" said Mr Manners, and he stooped and touched with his lips the
soft wrinkled hand that had been offered him.
They had not very much to say to one another for a while. It was Jean
who kept up the talk for a little, remarking upon the "bonny day," and
the flowers that were coming out earlier than usual, and on the sea,
which was seen at its best to-day, she said, a sparkling blue that faded
to pale green and grey in the distance.
"You have a wide view of it here," said Mr Manners who was leaning
against the ledge looking out.
There was nothing to be seen from Miss Jean's usual seat, but the sea
and one rocky cape in the northern distance. "It is company to me,"
said she. "It is ay changing."
"But it is dreary whiles, aunt, very dreary, when the wind blows loud,
and the winter is here." Miss Jean smiled.
"I think winter makes less difference to my outlook than it does to
yours, Jean, my dear. It's ay the sea, and ay the same, yet ay changing
ilka day o' the year, be it summer or winter. It is like a friend's
face to me now after all that's come and gone."
It was not easy getting below the surface of things, because their
thoughts were of the kind not easily spoken. Miss Jean said least, but
she looked and listened and was moved by the soft flowing English speech
of their new friend, in a way that filled her with amazement, "after all
these years," she said to herself.
By and by May came in, leaving Hugh Corbett in the pony carriage at the
door. She hesitated a moment, shy, but smiling, on the threshold, and
then Mr Manners led her forward to be kissed and congratulated and made
much of by her aunt.
"Ye'll try and be a good wife--as your mother was," said Miss Jean
softly, and she gave a tearful, appealing glance toward him who had won
the child's heart.
"I love her dearly," said he gently. "And I will care for her first
always."
"I believe ye," said Miss Jean.
What with his good, true face, his kindly ways and winning-speech, he
had won her good word, as easily as he had won Jean's "who liked him at
the first glance," as she had told her father.
Mr Manners' visit was necessarily brief, but when he went away, he
carried with him the good-will, and more than the good-will, of them
all. Even young Corbett, who had at first resented the break made in
the pleasant life they had been living of late by his monopolising Miss
May's time and attention, agreed with the rest at last. They became
mutually interested over shells and seaweeds, beetles and birds' nests,
and they were very friendly before Mr Manners went away.
Before his departure Mr Manners put Jean's friendship to the test.
"If you are on my side, I shall be able to bring about that on which I
have set my heart, and I must remind you of your promise."
Jean laughed.
"It seems that you are like to get that on which you have set your heart
without the help of any one."
"Ah! but how would it have been if you had set yourself against me? Or
if you were to do so even now?"
"It is too late for that now, and I don't think you are much afraid."
"Jean," said he gravely, "I want my May for my very own on the first day
of August." Jean was not so startled as she might have been. "I did
not think you would be willing to wait very long. But the first of
August! That is not much more than three months. It will look like
haste."
There were, it seemed, many good reasons for that which looked like
haste. The chief one was this: Mr Manners looked forward to two full
months of leisure after that time, which could not happen again for
another year. He had set his heart on carrying his bonny May to
Switzerland for the whole two months.
"Think what that would be in comparison to a winter marriage, and then
straight to a dull house in a London street!"
"Will she find it dull, do you think?" asked Jean smiling. "Ah! that
may be very possible, even though I know she will go willingly. Miss
Dawson, I feel as if I were guilty of wrong-doing in thinking to take my
darling from a home like this, to such a one as I can give her, even
though I believe she loves me."