"We shall miss the Doctor no end," said Jamie ruefully.
We caught the last wave of his hand; the pung's broad fur-behung back
could no longer be seen; the jingle of the bells grew fainter; soon
there was silence.
"He promised to come again in February. And, now, what next?" I
turned to Mrs. Macleod who was standing with Jamie at the window.
"There does n't seem to be any 'next'?" she answered with such evident
dejection that Jamie and I laughed at her.
"Take heart, mither," her son admonished her, using for the first time
in my presence the softer Scotch for mother.
"It's been such a pleasant week for us--and I find Mr. Ewart so
different; not that I mean to criticize our host," she added hastily
and apologetically. She seemed to take pleasure in refusing to be
comforted for the loss of the Doctor's cheering presence.
"Of course he 's different; there can't be two Doctor Rugvies in this
needy world; but you wait till you know Ewart better, mother. Talk
about 'what next'! You 'll find as soon as Ewart sets things humming
here there 'll be plenty of the 'next'; Cale can give you a point or
two on that already. By the way, he seems to have sworn allegiance to
Ewart; he does n't have time for me now."
"But what are we women to do here?" I exclaimed half impatiently. My
busy working life in the city, with the consequent pressure that made
itself felt every hour of the day, and burdened me at night with the
dreadful "what next if strength and health should fail?", had unfitted
me in part for the continued quiet of domesticity. I found myself
beginning to chafe under it, now that the house was settled. I wanted
more work to fill my time.
"Better ask Ewart," said Jamie to tease me.
"I will." I spoke decidedly and gave Jamie a surprise. "I 'll speak
to him the very first time I get the chance. He has n't given me one
yet."
"You 're right there, Marcia. I noticed you and the Doctor were great
chums from the first, but Ewart has n't said much to you--he is so
different, though, as mother says. It takes time to know Ewart, and
sometimes--"
"What 'sometimes'?"
"Sometimes when I think I know him, I find I don't. That interests me.
You 'll have the same experience when you get well acquainted with him."
"There is no monotony about that at any rate."
"I should say not." He spoke emphatically.
Mrs. Macleod turned to me.
"I 'm sure I feel just as you do, Marcia, about the 'what next'. I
don't know of anything except to keep house and provide for the meals--"
"That's no sinecure in this climate, mother. Such appetites! Even
Marcia is developing a bank holiday one."
"And gaining both color and flesh," said Mrs. Macleod, looking me over
approvingly. I dropped her a curtsey which surprised her Scotch
staidness and amused Jamie.
"Are you _sure_ you are twenty-six?" He smiled quizzically.
"As sure as you are of your three and twenty years."
Jamie turned from the window, took a book and dipped into it. I
thought he was lost to us for the next two hours. Mrs. Macleod left
the room.
"Sometimes I feel a hundred." Jamie spoke thoughtfully.
"And I a hundred and ten." I responded quickly to his mood.
"You 're bound to go me ten better. But no--have you, though?"