"When he first left Glasgow he went to Paris to see his friend, Matthew Ballantyne. Matthew had gone to Rome, and he followed him there, and he has been studying with Matthew's Roman master until Christmas drew near. Then he resolved to spend his Christmas in England and leave for New York at the beginning and not at the end of the year. In Paris he met Lady Cramer in the foyer of the Grand Opera House, and she induced him to stay with her, and to finally convey her to the Cramer House in London. It looks like kindness in Lady Cramer, but Donald is an extraordinarily handsome man, and women like her want such in their train."
"Like her! What do you mean, Jessy?"
"Oh, gay, flirting women, who count men's broken hearts and hopes very ornamental to themselves. As like as not she will be making eyes at Donald. I wish he was out of her seductions and safe on the Atlantic."
"If my advice had been taken, he would now be safe in the hallowed halls of St. Andrews. How can he afford such carryings on? They cost money."
"Donald will never want money while I live; forbye, the violin in his hand is a sure fortune."
"Was it not Izaak Walton who said that God had given to some men intelligence and to others the art of playing on the fiddle?"
"Let me tell you, Ian, a man could not play the fiddle without intelligence. My goodness! he requires brains to his fingers' ends to play as Donald plays. But Izaak Walton is right in one thing—Donald's gift is the gift of God, and every gift of God is good if used for innocent purpose. For myself, I am real glad that Donald's gift was music. There will be music in heaven, but there is no mention of preaching there; no matter how many play and sing in a household, if they do it well, there are never too many; but one preacher is enough in any family."
"Do not be angry, Jessy. It was but a passing remark—blame Izaak Walton for it—if it was he."
"I have no doubt it was he. The remark is just what you would expect from a man who could spend day after day and year after year putting hooks through the throats of fishes only weighing a pound or two. I think he would need few brains for that vocation. The silly body with his fishing rod! I wonder at sensible people quoting anything he says."
Dr. Macrae laughed a little, silent laugh which did not brighten his sad face, and then asked, "What time will Marion be home?"