Ah! no. There was the loch and the hills and the heather; there were her flowers; did he not think they were growing well? and at the head of the loch there was the old tomb of the McHulishes, and some of the coffins were still to be seen.
Perhaps emboldened by the consul's smile, she added, with a more serious precision which was, however, lost in the sympathizing caress of her voice, “And would you not be getting off and coming in and resting a wee bit before you go further? It would be so good of you, and father would think it so kind. And he will be there now, if you're looking.”
The consul looked. The old man was standing in the doorway of the cottage, as respectably uncompromising as ever, with the slight concession to his rural surroundings of wearing a Tam o' Shanter and easy slippers. The consul dismounted and entered. The interior was simply, but tastefully furnished. It struck him that the Scotch prudence and economy, which practically excluded display and meretricious glitter, had reached the simplicity of the truest art and the most refined wealth. He felt he could understand Gray's enthusiasm, and by an odd association of ideas he found himself thinking of the resigned face of the lonely passenger on the Skyscraper.
“Have you heard any news of your friend who went to Rio?” he asked pleasantly, but without addressing himself particularly to either.
There was a perceptible pause; doubtless of deference to her father on the part of the young girl, and of the usual native conscientious caution on the part of the father, but neither betrayed any embarrassment or emotion. “No; he would not be writing yet,” she at length said simply, “he would be waiting until he was settled to his business. Jamie would be waiting until he could say how he was doing, father?” she appealed interrogatively to the old man.
“Ay, James Gow would not fash himself to write compliments and gossip till he knew his position and work,” corroborated the old man. “He'll not be going two thousand miles to send us what we can read in the 'St. Kentigern Herald.' But,” he added, suddenly, with a recall of cautiousness, “perhaps YOU will be hearing of the ship?”
“The consul will not be remembering what he hears of all the ships,” interposed the young girl, with the same gentle affectation of superior worldly knowledge which had before amused him. “We'll be wearying him, father,” and the subject dropped.
The consul, glancing around the room again, but always returning to the sweet and patient seriousness of the young girl's face and the grave decorum of her father, would have liked to ask another question, but it was presently anticipated; for when he had exhausted the current topics, in which both father and daughter displayed a quiet sagacity, and he had gathered a sufficient knowledge of their character to seem to justify Gray's enthusiasm, and was rising to take his leave, the young girl said timidly:—
“Would ye not let Bessie take your horse to the grass field over yonder, and yourself stay with us to dinner? It would be most kind, and you would meet a great friend of yours who will be here.”
“Mr. Gray?” suggested the consul audaciously. Yet he was greatly surprised when the young girl said quietly, “Ay.”