FullReads

“Well, not more than half,” Miss MacNish smiled.

“It’s the truth,” he said; “I will bet you ten pounds it’s the truth.”

Miss MacNish looked at him indignantly, and in the midst of the look she sighed. “I don’t bet,” said she.

McTavish lowered his glance until it rested upon his own highly polished brown boots.

“Why are you looking at your boots?” asked Miss MacNish.

“Because,” he said simply, “considering that I am in love with my cousin, I don’t think I ought to look at you any more. I’m afraid I got the habit by looking at your sister; but then, as she has a husband, it couldn’t matter so much.”

Miss MacNish, I’m afraid, mantled with pleasure. “My sister said something in her letter about your wishing to see the house of your ancestors. Miss McTavish is out now–would you like to look about a little?”

“Dearly,” said McTavish.

VI

Miss McTavish sent for Mr. Traquair. He went to her with a heavy conscience, for as yet he had done nothing toward raising the ten pounds. At her first words his conscience became still more laden.

“Traquair,” she said, “you mustn’t tell him yet.”

It was all Traquair could do to keep countenance. “Then it’s fortunate I haven’t,” said he, “for you gave me a free hand.”

“Consider it tied behind your back for the present, for a wonderful thing is going to happen.”

“Indeed,” said Traquair.

“You wouldn’t believe me when I tell you that the silly man is going to fall in love with me, and ask me to marry him!”

“Although you haven’t offered me a chair, my dear,” said Traquair, “I will take one.”

All in a burst then, half laughing, half in a grave kind of excitement, she told her old friend how she had played housekeeper first at Brig O’Dread and later at Beem-Tay. And how, on the latter occasion, McTavish had displayed his admiration so openly that there could be but the one climax.

“And after all,” she concluded, “if he thinks I’m just a housekeeper, and falls in love with me and asks me to marry him–I’d know the man was sincere–wouldn’t I, Traquair?”

“It seems to me,” said Traquair, “that I have never seen you so thoroughly delighted with yourself.”

“That is unkind. It is a wonderful thing when a girl of position, and hedged in as I have been, finds that she is loved for herself alone and not for her houses and lands, and her almost royal debts.”

“Verra flattering,” said Traquair, “na doot. And what answer will you give?”

“Traquair,” she said, “I’m not a profane girl; but I’m hanged if I know.”

“He is a very wealthy man, and I have no doubt a very kind and honest man.”

“He is a very cheeky man,” smiled Miss McTavish.

“No doubt–no doubt,” said Traquair; “and it would leave you to the honest enjoyment of your houses and lands, which otherwise you propose to hand over to him. Still, it is well for a Scot to be cautious.”

“For a Scotch Scot,” said Miss McTavish. “I should be an American Scot if I married him. He tells me they are noted for their daring.”

While they were thus animatedly conversing, word came that Mr. McTavish had called in the hope of seeing Miss MacNish.

“There,” said Miss McTavish, “you see! Go down to him, Traquair, and be pleasant, until I come. Then vanish.”

Traquair found McTavish smoking a thick London cigarette upon the steps of the side entrance, and gazing happily into a little garden of dark yew and vivid scarlet geraniums with daring edgings of brightest blue lobelia.

“Will you be making any changes,” asked Traquair, “when you come into your own?”

McTavish looked up with a smile and handed his open cigarette case to the older man.

“Mr. Traquair,” he said, “I’m young and a stranger. I wish you could find it in your heart to be an uncle to me.”

Traquair accepted a cigarette and sat down, first assuring himself that the stone steps were dry.