Ere he could speak, his mother put out her hand, and not rudely, but very coldly, repelling Christie's arm, said in a freezing manner:
“We are much obliged to you, but my son's own talents have rescued him from his little embarrassment.”
“A nobleman has bought my picture,” said Gatty, proudly.
“For one hundred and fifty pounds,” said the old lady, meaning to mark the contrast between that sum and what Christie had in her hand.
Christie remained like a statue, with her arms extended, and the bank-notes in her hand; her features worked—she had much ado not to cry; and any one that had known the whole story, and seen this unmerited repulse, would have felt for her; but her love came to her aid, she put the notes in her bosom, sighed and said:
“I would hae likeit to hae been the first, ye ken, but I'm real pleased.”
“But, mother,” said Gatty, “it was very kind of Christie all the same. Oh, Christie!” said he, in a tone of despair.
At this kind word Christie's fortitude was sore tried; she turned away her head; she was far too delicate to let them know who had sent Lord Ipsden to buy the picture.
While she turned away, Mrs. Gatty said in her son's ear:
“Now, I have your solemn promise to do it here, and at once; you will find me on the beach behind these boats—do it.”