CHAPTER III.

A FORECAST.

Now, among the numerous undertakings on which the young proprietress of Lochgarra had set her heart was the establishment of a Public Reading-room and Free Library; and to that end she had planned and built--employing local labour only--a large, long, one-storeyed erection, of a solid and substantial cast, fit to withstand the buffetings of the western storms. The interior was as simple and unpretentious as the exterior; there was nothing beyond a strip of platform, a series of plain wooden benches, a few deal tables and chairs, and a small space partitioned off as kitchen. The rules and regulations, of her own sketching out, were likewise of an artless nature. The place was to be open to the whole community. Tea and coffee at cheap rates were to be procurable between five and seven a.m., and from seven till nine in the evening: the morning hours were for the benefit of bachelor workmen on their way to work, or of fishermen coming in cold and wet after a night at sea. Although reading was the ostensible aim, women were free to bring their knitting or sewing: good lamps would be provided, and a good fire in winter. There were to be no set entertainments of any kind; but on certain evenings such of the young people as could sing or play on any instrument would be expected to do their best for the amusement of their neighbours. Thus far only had she drawn out her simple code; she wished to get the opinions of the villagers themselves as to minor details; and so, all being ready, there one day appeared the following modest little handbill---"On Tuesday next, at six o'clock in the evening, Miss Stanley will open the Public Reading Room for the use of the inhabitants of Lochgarra. Everyone is invited to attend."

It was on the Monday afternoon that she and Kate Glendinning went along to have a final look. Apparently all was in order; though, to be sure, the supply of books, magazines, and newspapers was as yet somewhat scanty. But it was something else that was uppermost in Mary's mind at this moment.

"You don't think me really nervous, Kaethchen?" said she, in a half-laughing and yet concerned way.

"No, I do not," her friend said explicitly. "Why, you, of all people!--you have courage for anything----"

"Look at that platform," Mary went on. "It is only a few inches raised above the floor. Yes, but those few inches make all the difference. Standing here I might perhaps be able to say something; but I declare to you, Kaethchen, that the moment I set foot on that platform I shall be frozen into a voiceless statue. Why, I am trembling now, even to think of it! I feel the choking in my throat already. And to have all those eyes fixed on you--and your brain going round--and you unable to say a word; I know I shall tumble down in a faint--and the ignominy of it----"

"It is very unfortunate," Kaethchen admitted, as they left the building and set out for home again, "that Mr. Meredyth was called away so suddenly. He could have done it for you. Or even your brother. But if you are so terrified, Mamie, why don't you ask the Minister?--he is accustomed to conduct all sorts of meetings."

"No, I could not do that either," Mary said. "You see, I want the people thoroughly to understand that they are not going to be lectured or preached at. They are not even to be amused against their will. The whole place is to be their own: I have no educational fad to thrust on them. Do you remember Mrs. Armour talking about the _Ceilidh_ of the old days?--well, I want to revive the _Ceilidh_; and I am not sure that Mr. Pettigrew would approve. No; I suppose I must get up on that platform, even if my knees should be knocking against each other. And if my tongue cleaves to the roof of my mouth, well, you must come forward, Kaethchen, and make an apology, and tell them that I give them the use of the building and its contents, and that there's no more to be said."

Now Kate Glendinning, during these last few seconds, seemed to be occupied with something far ahead of them, on which she was fixing an earnest gaze. The afternoon around them was clear and golden, with an abundance of light everywhere; but the sun was getting over to the west, so that the larches threw a shadow across the Minard highway, whither her eyes were directed. Presently, however, she seemed to have satisfied herself.

"Well, Mamie," said she, "I have never tried to address a meeting, so I don't know what it is like; but I should have thought you had nerve and courage for anything."

"It isn't nerve, Kaethchen; it isn't courage!" she exclaimed, in a kind of mock despair. "Why, at a Lord Mayor's dinner, I have seen one of the bravest soldiers that England possesses--I have seen him with his hands shaking like a leaf as he stood up to answer to a toast."

"Very well, then, Mamie," said her companion, calmly, "if you are so frightened, why don't you get Mr. Donald Ross to take your place? I am sure he would do it for you at once. And as for asking him, there can be no trouble about that; because if you look along there you will see him at the foot of the Minard road, and he is coming this way."

For one startled second Mary stood stock still, her eyes filled with alarm: perhaps some wild notion that escape might even yet be possible had flashed through her brain. But that was only for a moment. Kaethchen had just been complimenting her on her courage: she could not show the white feather the very next minute. So instantly she resumed her onward walk, and that with something of an air of proud confidence. She was 'more than common tall,' and there was a certain freedom and dignity in her gait: how could any bystander have told that under that brave demeanour her heart was going like the heart of a captured hare?

"Oh, what were you saying, Kaethchen?" she resumed, with a fine assumption of carelessness. "The Mansion House dinner--oh, yes, I assure you--a very famous soldier--and his hand was shaking--you see, I happened to be sitting next him----"

"Mamie, are you going to ask Mr. Ross about the photographs?" Kaethchen asked, in a low voice, for young Donald of Heimra was drawing nearer.

But what could she say in reply? This encounter was altogether too abrupt and unexpected a thing. She had not even time to recall what she had decided was her position with regard to this solitary neighbour of hers. If he had wronged her by neglect, she had vehemently professed to Kaethchen that that was of no consequence. If, on the other hand, he was still haughtily indignant over the insults that had been heaped upon him by her brother, how could she make him any fit apology? In fact, she hardly knew whether to treat him as friend or foe; and yet here he was approaching them--every moment coming nearer--and her heart going faster than ever.

As for him, he kept his eyes fixed on her, with a calm and even respectful attention. He, at least, was not embarrassed; and Mary, in a desperate kind of way, was conscious that it was for her to decide; she was aware, without looking, that he was expectant; she was mortified to think that her face was flushed and confused, while he was tranquilly regarding her. Then of a sudden she rebelled angrily against this calm superiority; and just as he came up she glanced towards him and coldly bowed. He raised his cap. Was he going on--without a word?

"Oh, Mr. Ross," said she, stammering and embarrassed, and yet affecting to treat this meeting as quite an everyday affair, "it is strange we should just have been talking about you--you--you haven't been much over to the mainland of late, have you?--perhaps you haven't seen the reading-room since it was finished--no, I suppose not--do you think it will be of any use?--do you think it will be of any service?--do you think the people will care for it?"

"They ought to be very grateful to you," said he. "I wonder what you are going to do for them next?"

The sound of his voice seemed immensely to reassure her.

"Grateful?" she said, quite cheerfully, and despite her conscious colour she managed to meet his eyes. "Well, I, for one, should be exceedingly grateful to you if would do me a very particular favour with regard to this same reading-room. Miss Glendinning was talking about you only a moment or two ago--and--and the fact is, I propose to hand over the building to-morrow afternoon----"

"I saw the little handbill," said he, with a smile.

"Then I hope," said she, with an answering smile, "that you haven't come over to turn away my audience, as you did in the case of the people who wanted to create a disturbance."

"Oh, no," said he, "I hope you did not suspect me of any such intention. Oh, no; it was quite the other way, indeed--if any one had asked me----"

"But I want more than that from you," said she--and all her confusion seemed to have fled: she was regarding him in the most friendly way, and talking with a happy confidence. "I want far more than that, Mr. Ross, if you will be so kind. Do you know, I was telling Kaethchen here that the moment I put my foot on the platform to-morrow evening I should expire, or faint, or do something terrible; for what experience have I in addressing a meeting? I assure you I am in an absolute fright about it; I tremble when I think of it; when I try to imagine what I am going to say, my throat seems to gasp already. Now would you do this speechmaking for me--what little is needed? Would it be too much of a favour? Is it asking too much?"

This was her brief prayer; and Kaethchen, standing by, a not uninterested spectator, was saying to herself, "Well, Mamie, you have the most extraordinary eyes, when they choose to be friendly, and interested, and appealing; I wonder what mortal man could resist them?" It was not Donald Ross, at all events.

"Oh yes, certainly; I will do that for you with pleasure," said he at once. "I have never in my life addressed a meeting; but I don't suppose there can be any trouble about it--especially when one knows the people. Only, you must tell me what I am to say: if I am to be your counsel, you must give me instructions----"

"Oh, yes, yes," said she, quite eagerly. "I will tell you all the regulations I mean to propose; and the points on which I want to have the public opinion. Are you very busy just now? Will you come along and have tea with us? Then I could tell you all I wish to have said."

He hesitated; and the least tinge of colour appeared in the pale, keen, resolute face. He had not expected to be asked so soon to cross the threshold of Lochgarra House. Nevertheless, after that momentary indecision, he said--

"Thank you, yes, I will go with you and get my brief. Though it does seem a little impertinent in me to presume to be your spokesman."

"Oh, don't say that," she remonstrated, warmly. "I cannot tell you how much I am obliged to you. Why, Kaethchen will assure you that I was just about dying with fear."

And all this had taken place so rapidly that even Kaethchen was a little bewildered. How had such a mighty revolution come about within the space of two or three swift seconds? A few minutes before, and Mary Stanley would not have allowed this young man's name to have passed her lips; and now she was regarding him with the most obvious favour, and smiling and talking with an eager delight; while his keen, dark face and expressive eyes answered her in kind. Kate Glendinning, as they walked on towards the house, did not seek to interfere in this conversation: to watch the demeanour of those two was of far greater interest to her than any question connected with the Free Library. And Kaethchen, if she did not talk to them, could commune with herself. 'Mamie,' she was saying, in this secret fashion, 'you should not show yourself so anxious to please. It isn't like you. If you are overjoyed to be on friendly terms with him again, don't make it so manifest. You shouldn't seek him; let him seek you. And don't allow your eyes to say quite so much: do you know that they are just laughing with gladness?' And then, as they were passing into the hall, the door leading out on to the garden-terrace recalled a certain little incident. 'Poor Mr. Meredyth!' said Kaethchen to herself.

In the drawing-room, again, Mary plied this guest of hers with every kind of pretty attention; and seemed very pleased and happy; while she grew almost reckless in her philanthropic schemes. Indeed, it was Donald Ross himself who had to interpose to put a check on her generous enthusiasm.

"No, no," he said, with a smile, and yet with a certain quiet and masterful air that was habitual with him, "you must not do anything of the kind. Giving them Meall-na-Cruagan was quite enough. You must not think of giving up Meall-na-Fearn as well. You would be crippling Mr. Watson to no purpose. The crofters have quite enough pasture now for their stock.

"Yes, but I want to do everything," she insisted, "I want to try everything that can be thought of--everything--before coming to the last confession of failure: and you know what that is?"

"What?"

"Why, emigration. Oh, I haven't forgotten your threat," she said, with some little touch of confusion in her smiling eyes, "to take away the people with you to Canada or New South Wales, or some such place. And--and I don't want that. That seems to me ignominious. That seems to me simply a confession of failure."

"At all events," said he, "it was not as a threat that I made the suggestion. I thought it would help you."

"Oh," said she, with her face flushing a little, "but I don't want anybody to go away. Surely something else should be tried first. There are many things to be done. I want to have many more looms going; and the fishing developed; and several new industries started--perhaps even kelp-burning, if there are sufficient beds of seaweed. Why, I consider I am only beginning now. I have been simply clearing the way--getting fair rents fixed--and all that; and--and I don't want to be interfered with, in that rude fashion. Give me time. Let me have my chance first. Then if I fail----"

"Oh, but we shan't talk of failure," said he, good-naturedly. "Failure would be too cruel a return for all your kindness to these people."

He stayed till very near dinner-time: those two seemed to have so much to say to each other--and not about the Lochgarra estate only. Directly he had gone, Mary said, in quite an eager and excited fashion--

"Kaethchen, if I had had the courage of a mouse, I'd have asked him to dine with us! Why shouldn't I? Don't you think I might--the next time? Don't you think I might? It is so pleasant for neighbours to be on neighbourly terms. And just imagine what his life must be out in that little island, seeing no one. It seems to me that, situated as we are, it is almost a duty to ask him to come to the house. And why not to dinner? If he comes in, and has tea with us, why not dinner? What is the difference between tea and dinner?"

"He has very eloquent eyes," said Kaethchen, demurely. "He seemed much pleased with his visit this evening."

"Kaethchen," said Mary, and she seemed a little restless, and yet very happy withal: she went to the window occasionally to look at nothing, and appeared quite oblivious of the fact that the dinner-gong had just sounded--"Kaethchen, do you remember the blue and gold embroidered scarf that I told you could be so easily turned into a hood for the opera?"

"I'm sure I do!" said Kaethchen, little dreaming of what was coming.

"Then I'm going to give you that--yes, I will--now, don't protest----"

"Indeed I must, though, Mamie," said Kaethchen, warmly. "Why, what use would it be to me? And you know how admirably it suited your complexion and the colour of your hair. What mania for giving has seized you this afternoon? I thought you were going to throw away the whole of the Lochgarra estate; and I was glad to see Mr. Ross put some curb on your wildness. And I must say you were very amenable, Mamie. You're not quite so self-willed when Mr. Ross is talking to you----"

"I'm going to be self-willed enough to make you take that scarf, Kaethchen," said Mary, with a gay impetuosity. "Yes, I am. I will send for it to-morrow. Why, you know it is a pretty thing, Kaethchen--the Albanian needlework is so quaint--and I remember perfectly that you admired it----"

"But what use would a hood for the theatre be in a place like this!" Kaethchen exclaimed.

"Don't I tell you it is a pretty thing to look at, here or anywhere else?" was the imperious rejoinder. "And I want to give it to you, Kaethchen--and that's all about it--and so not another word!"

When at length they went in to dinner, Mary sate silent and thoughtful for a little while: then she said--

"Kaethchen, did you ever hear a voice that gave you such a curious impression of sincerity?"

"Do you mean Mr. Ross's?" said Kaethchen, gravely.

"Yes," said Mary, with a bit of a start: she had been forgetting. "I mean quite apart from the quality of the voice, and that of itself seems to me remarkable. For you know most men's voices are repellent--unnecessarily harsh and grating--you are not interested--you would rather keep away. But his voice, quiet as it is, thrills; it is so clear, and soft, and persuasive; I don't know that you can say of a man that he has a musical voice in talking, but if you can, then his is distinctly musical. Only that is not what you chiefly think of. It is the honesty of his tone that is so marked. He never seems to talk for effect; he does not want to impress you, or make any display; it is the truth he aims at, and you feel that it is the truth, and that you can believe down to the very depths every word he is uttering. And you seem to feel that he makes you honest too. It is no use trying any pretence with him. He would laugh at you if you did--and yet not cruelly. He is so direct, so simple, so manly, not a grain of affectation to be discovered. I wonder, now, when he is called to the Bar, if he will practise in the courts? For don't you think I rather effectually stopped the emigration scheme--didn't I, Kaethchen? Oh, yes, I don't think he will talk any more about Canada or Australia--not, at least, until I have had my chance. But on the other hand, if he were to remain in this county, and practise at the Bar, don't you think he would succeed? I know if I were a judge, and Mr. Ross were pleading before me, I should have little difficulty in deciding who was speaking the truth."

"Counsel are not paid to speak the truth: quite the reverse," said Kaethchen.

"And when he laughs, there is nothing sarcastic in his laugh--nothing but good-nature," continued the young lady, who was not paying much attention to Barbara's ministrations. "Is there anything so horrid as a cackling laugh--the conceited laugh of a small nature? Yes, it is a very good thing he has so pleasant and good-humoured a laugh--for--after all--yes, perhaps he is just a little blunt and peremptory. What do you think, Kaethchen? Did you think he was a little dictatorial? And you said something--that I was amenable? But was I too amenable, Kaethchen? I hope he did not imagine that I was subservient--especially if he was rather masterful and plain-spoken----"

"Come, come, Mamie, don't quarrel with him when he has hardly had time to get out of the house," Kaethchen interposed, with a smile. "I consider that the manner of both of you was quite perfect, if what you wanted to convey was that you were both highly pleased to meet in this way and have a confidential and friendly chat. Dictatorial? Not in the least! Of course he knows a good many things about this place; and it was to save you yourself from being excessive in your generosity that he spoke plainly. And speaking plainly--why, wasn't it that very thing you were praising only a moment ago, when you spoke of the simplicity and sincerity of his speech?"

"Because," said Mary, drawing up her head a little, "if--if I thought he considered me too complaisant and submissive--if I thought so--well, I would show him something different."

"Now, are you determined to quarrel?" Kaethchen exclaimed, with laughing eyes. "Here is this poor young man who meets you in the road, and he is as respectful and distant as could possibly be, waiting to see how you mean to treat him; and you seem a little doubtful; then of a sudden you resolve to make the first advances; and the next thing is that you appear so glad to find that both of you are on friendly terms, that nothing will do but he must come away home and have tea with you; and you are exceedingly kind to him, and he is exceedingly grateful--as those black eyes of his showed. What is there in all that? Yet now you must alarm yourself by thinking you have been too complaisant!"

"No, Kaethchen, no; not that I think so; what I dread is that he may have been thinking so."

"If I were to tell you, Mamie," said Kaethchen, "what I imagine to have been in Donald Ross's mind when you and he were sitting talking together, eyes fixed on eyes, with never a thought for anything or anybody else in the whole wide world, well, I suppose you would be indignant, and would probably tell me to attend to my own affairs. Which I mean to do--only I am not blind." For a second Mary regarded her friend with a scrutinizing glance; but she had not the courage to speak; she changed the subject--and hardly mentioned Donald Ross's name for the rest of that evening.

Next day, and especially towards the afternoon, there was quite a commotion in the village, for small things become great in a remote little community like Lochgarra; and when it drew near to six o'clock there were various groups of people scattered around the new building, walking about and chatting, sometimes peeping in at the door with a vague curiosity.

"I wonder if he expects us to go along and meet him there?" said Mary, rather anxiously to Kaethchen.

"You mean Mr. Ross?" said Kaethchen, though well she knew to whom the "he" referred. "I should think he would call for us. The _Sirene_ is not in the bay; she must be round in the Camus Bheag; so Mr. Ross will be coming down from Minard."

Kaethchen's anticipations proved correct; young Ross, in passing Lochgarra House, stopped for a moment to ask if the ladies had gone on; and, finding that they were just about ready to set out, he waited for them. And thus it was that the inhabitants of Lochgarra again witnessed a strange sight--something far more wonderful than the opening of a Free Library: they beheld young Donald of Heimra acting as escort to this English woman--this alien--this representative of the family that had drained the waters out of Heimra Loch, and torn down the walls of the old Castle. And not only that, but when they came along, he seemed to manage everything for her. He drove the people into the large, long room, and got the benches filled up; he had two chairs placed on the platform, one for Miss Stanley and one for Miss Glendinning; and then, standing by the side of the Baintighearna, proceeded to speak for her, and to explain the conditions attaching to this bequest.

And here once more Mary, sitting there silent and observant, may have been struck by the curious directness and simplicity of his speech. Concise, explicit sentences: they seemed to accord well with his own bearing, which was distinctly straightforward, intrepid, resolute. Indeed, so little of effort, so little of talking for effect was there about this address, that once or twice, and in the most natural way in the world, he turned to Miss Stanley and asked her for information on certain points. Finally, he told them that Miss Stanley wished for no ceremony, opening or otherwise; they were merely to take possession; and they would now be left to examine the resources of the building including the duplicate catalogues of the library.

"Three cheers for Donald Ross of Heimra!" called out a voice--and a cap was twirled to the roof.

"Don't make a fool of yourself, Gillie Ciotach!" said Ross, with a quick frown; and then he went on calmly: "It is Miss Stanley's express wish that there should be no formalities whatever, otherwise I should have proposed a vote of thanks to her for her very great kindness and thoughtfulness. However, that is not to be; and the best way you can show what you think of her munificent gift is by making a good use of it and taking every care of it." He turned to the Baintighearna. "I suppose that is about all I have to say, Miss Stanley?"

"Yes, I think so: thank you so much!" she said, in rather a low voice--for she was a trifle self-conscious before all those people.

Then she rose. He stepped down from the platform, and led the way along the hall. There was some covert clapping of hands and stamping of feet; but the Gillie Ciotach had been snubbed into silence; and, indeed, the majority of those sad and weather-worn countenances remained stolidly indifferent, as if they hardly knew what was happening around them. Ross opened the door for his two companions, and followed them out into the golden-clear afternoon; the villagers were left to overhaul at their leisure this new possession, and to become familiar with its opportunities.

But no sooner were those three out in the open, and by themselves, than Mary Stanley's manner underwent a complete change. She had thrown off that platform constraint; she was profuse in her expressions of gratitude; her eyes were shining with pleasure.

"How can I ever sufficiently thank you?" said she. "I could never have got through it by myself--never! And of course they will remember everything you said: any word of yours is all-important with them. I am a stranger. I am suspected. But when you are on my side all goes well. And now that this serious business has been got over, I feel as if we had earned a holiday for the rest of the day," she continued, in a very radiant and light-hearted fashion. "What shall we do, Kaethchen? Can't you devise something? Can't you devise some wild escapade--something terrible--something unheard of?"

"The Lady Superior of Lochgarra," said Donald Ross, "is much too distinguished a person to indulge in wild escapades."

"At least," said she, turning to him--and they were now on their way to Lochgarra House--"it would be very hard if we three, having so successfully got through the solemn duties and labours of the day, were to separate now. Don't you think we are entitled to a little relaxation? Now, tell me, Mr. Ross, where you are going at this moment. Back to the _Sirene_, are you not? And you will be dining alone? And after that a book and a pipe in the solitary saloon--isn't that about how you will pass the evening?"

"You have guessed pretty near the truth, Miss Stanley," said he, with a smile.

"Then," said she, boldly, "why should we separate? Come in and dine with us. Give up your book, and let two frivolous creatures talk to you. We will allow you to go away at ten; and it will be a clear starlight night--you will have no difficulty in finding your way round to the Camus Bheag. Now, will you?"

"Indeed, I shall be most happy," said he, without an instant's hesitation; and again Miss Stanley's clear grey-green eyes thanked him as they could, when she had a mind.

And really this proved to be a most joyous and careless evening, without an atom of restraint or reserve; the little group of friends, brought together in that far-away corner of the world, developed a very frank and informal intimacy; the time sped swiftly. Mary was in especial merry-hearted and audacious; occasionally betraying new moods of wilful petulance; and then again becoming suddenly honest, as much as to say, "No, don't believe that of me; it was only mischief." Even Kaethchen was less demurely observant than usual; she had become a little more accustomed to the flame of those coal-black eyes; moreover, the young man had a winning smile. He was no longer the proud and austere person whom she had regarded with a little anxiety and even awe. Implacable she was no longer ready to call him: surely one who could laugh in that frankly good-humoured way was not likely to prove revengeful and unforgiving? As for his being haughty and imperious, she noticed one small circumstance--that ever and again, amid this familiar and sprightly intercourse, he checked himself a little, and would address Miss Stanley with something almost of deference. It was as if he were saying, 'It is exceedingly kind of you to treat me in so very friendly a fashion; but still--still--you are the Lady Superior of Lochgarra--and I am your guest.' And sometimes he seemed to veil his eyes a little--those burning eyes that might unawares convey too much.

The lightning moments fled; ten o'clock came ere he knew. Indeed, it was half-an-hour thereafter before he chanced to look at his watch; and instantly he rose, with a quite boyish confusion on his clear, finely-cut face.

"When do you go back to Heimra?" said Mary to him--the two young ladies having accompanied him out into the hall.

"I hardly know," said he. "I am waiting for a rather important letter that I must answer at once."

"Not to-morrow, then?"

"Perhaps not."

"For I have sent for the photographer," said she, "and he may be here the day after."

"But I will stay over," said he; "oh, yes, certainly; I should be so pleased if I can be of the least service to you."

"Oh, thank you." And then she hesitated. "To-morrow--to-morrow you will simply be waiting for the mid-day mail?"

"Yes--is there anything that I can do for you in any way?"

"Oh, no," she made answer, with still further hesitation. "Some day--I am going to ask you to let me have a peep at the _Sirene_. She seems such a pretty little yacht."

"Won't you come along and look over her to-morrow morning, if the weather is fine?" said he, quickly.

"Would you like to go, Kaethchen?" asked Mary, with a little shyness.

"Oh, I should be delighted," answered the useful Kaethchen, divining what was wanted of her.

"If you are sure it is not troubling you," said Mary to her departing guest.

"Why, it will give me the greatest possible pleasure," said he. "Come as early as ever you like. It will be quite an event: it is many a day since I had the honour of receiving visitors on the little _Sirene_."

"Then about eleven," said Mary; and therewith he took his leave.

When they got back to the drawing-room, Kate Glendinning threw herself into the chair she had recently quitted.

"Well, I think he is simply splendid!" said she, as if she had some difficulty in finding words to express her enthusiasm. "That's all I can say--just splendid. He is so curiously straightforward, outspoken, independent; and yet all the time he is so careful to treat you with marked respect. If his eyes laugh at you, it is in such a good-natured way that you can't take offence. And he never agrees with you for courtesy's sake--never--oh, not a bit; but yet, as I say, to you he is always so respectful--in so many little ways--didn't you notice? Ah, well, Mamie," continued the observant but nevertheless cautious-tongued Kaethchen, "it's a curious world, the way things happen in it. Do you remember, when you first came here, your distress about the destruction of Castle Heimra? You said nothing could ever atone for that; and I was of your opinion then. But I am not so sure now. I should not be so surprised, after all, if there were to be some atonement for the pulling down of Castle Heimra."

Mary did not answer: she had gone to put some Japanese water-colours into a large portfolio. Nor could the expression of her face be seen; if there was any indignant colour there, any proud, maidenly reserve and resentment, it was invisible; for she remained standing by the portfolio for some time, turning over the leaves.