The stranger was to have come about noon, but it was the middle of the afternoon when he arrived. The storm was then nearly over, and there was a glint of watery sunshine athwart the cold; green, tossing sea. Maggie had grown anxious at his delay, and then a little cross. At two o’clock she gave a final peep into the room and said to herself,—“I’ll just get on wi’ my wark, let him come, or let him bide awa’. I canna waste my time waiting for folk that dinna ken the worth o’ time.”
So when her lodger stood at her door she was at her baking board, and patting the cakes so hard, that she did not hear him, until he said, “Good afternoon, Miss Promoter.”
Then she turned sharply around, and answered, “Maggie Promoter, if it please you, sir.”
“Very well,” he said gravely, “good afternoon, Maggie. Is your brother at home?”
“No, sir; he’s awa’ to Kinkell. Your room is ready for you, sir.” As she spoke she was rubbing the meal from her hands, and he stood watching her with delight. He had wondered if her beauty would bear the test of daylight, or if it needed the broad shadows, and the dull glow of the burning turf and the oil cruisie. But she stood directly in the band of sunshine, and was only the more brilliantly fair for it. He was not in love with her, he was sure of that, but he was interested by a life so vivid, so full of splendid color, grace, and vitality.
With a little pride she opened the door of his room, and stirred up the glowing peats, and put the big rush chair before them,—“And you can just call me, sir, when you want aught,” she said, “I’ll go ben noo, and finish my cake baking.”
“Maggie, this room is exactly what I wanted; so clean and quiet! I’m much obliged to you for allowing me to use it.” “You pay siller, sir, and there’s nae call to say thank you!” With the words she closed the door, and was gone. And somehow, the tone of reserve and the positive click of the latch made him feel that there would be limits he could not pass.
In a couple of hours he heard the little stir of David’s return, and the preparation for tea. Maggie brought his table to the fireside and covered it with a square of linen, and set upon it his cup and plate. He had a book in his hand and he pretended to be absorbed in it; but he did not lose a movement that she made.
“Your tea is a’ ready, sir.”
He lifted his eyes then, and again her clear candid gaze was caught by his own. Both were this time distinctly conscious of the meeting, and both were for the moment embarrassed.