"You have a fortunate subject for your study. I can imagine no greater pleasure than painting such a child, if art is your forte."
She moved away to speak to some one else. Jean was disappointed. She would like to have talked with her longer. Meta had left her and was having an animated conversation with a tall handsome man who was standing in the deep bay window with one or two other young people.
Jean sat down by an old lady, who eyed her curiously. In a few minutes they drifted into talk.
"Is Dr. Fergusson here?"
"Indeed, no," replied her neighbour, with a strong Scotch accent, "he'll be away visiting and curing his patients. He's a busy man, Leslie Fergusson is; not after George's pattern over there, who whiles away his time in ladies' drawing-rooms, and makes his mother wish she hadn't brought him into the world at all!"
"Is that Dr. Fergusson's brother? I did not know he had one."
Jean was smiling at the old lady's energetic disapproval.
"There are only the two, but I always say it is one too many for their mother's peace of mind! Clever? Ay, he may look so, and I will not say he isna, but he uses up his brain in composing trashy poems for local papers, and cultivating compliments and flirtations with any pretty lass about. He will tell you he is a barrister in Edinburgh. He's a briefless one, and will be never anything else in my estimation!"
Jean was silent. Her eyes left Meta and her companion, and travelled after Mrs. Fergusson. She longed, as she saw her move about and entertain her guests, to come one afternoon when she had no visitors and have her to herself. And she began to feel a little lonely. Every one seemed to know each other, and call each other by their Christian names. She realised that she was a stranger in a strange land, and thought it a little ill-natured of Meta to forsake her.
Then, in another moment, Mrs. Fergusson was before her and speaking to her.