“You 're just frightening me, Dr. Stewart; that's what it is you are doing.”
“And I say it again, ma'am, it's yourself is the cause o' it all. But tell me what success he has had,—has he seen Sir Harry Elphinstone?”
“That he has, and seen a greater than Sir Harry; he has come back with a fine place, doctor; he's to be one of the Queen's—I forget whether they call them couriers or messengers—that bring the state despatches all over the world; and, as poor dear Tony says, it's a place that was made for him,—for they don't want Greek or Latin, or any more book-learning than a country gentleman should have.
“What are you sighing about, Dr. Stewart? There's nothing to sigh over getting five, maybe six, hundred a year.”
“I was not sighing; I was only thinkin'. And when is he to begin this new life?”
“If you are sighing over the fall it is for a Butler, one of his kith and kin, taking a very humble place, you may just spare your feelings, doctor, for there are others as good as himself in the same employ.”
“And what does Sir Arthur say to it, ma'am?” asked he, as it were to divert her thoughts into another course.
“Well, if you must know, Dr. Stewart,” said she, drawing herself up and smoothing down her dress with dignity, “we have ventured to take this step without consulting Sir Arthur or any of his family.”
A somewhat long silence ensued. At last she said: “If Tony was at home, doctor, he 'd tell you how kindly his father's old friend received him,—taking up stories of long ago, and calling him Watty, just as he used to do. And so, if they did not give my poor boy a better place, it was because there was nothing just ready at the moment, perhaps,—or nothing to fit him; for, as Sir Harry said laughingly, 'We can't make you a bishop, I fear.'”
“I dinna see anything against it,” muttered the old minister, not sorry for the chance of a shot against Episcopacy.