“The child is frightened to death,” whispered Mrs. Dunlop, smiling indulgently.
“‘Mrs. Dunlop and Miss Campbell,’ announced the footman loudly.”
Lady Glencairn turned very pale, as she recognized the girl she had met in Robert’s room. She trembled and could scarcely regain her usual composure as Robert with a proud tenderness lighting up the depths of his black eyes, led the vision of youth and perfect beauty up to the hostess, to whom he introduced Mary. Then he turned to Lady Glencairn. “Lady Glencairn, allow me to introduce to you Miss Campbell. You remember Highland Mary, do you not?”
She gave a slight start and her muscles tightened. The dairymaid sweetheart here in Edinburgh? she thought in amazement. What could it mean?
“Quite well,” she answered, extending her cold jeweled hand. “I little dreamed I should ever meet you here like this, but the unexpected always happens.”
“Dinna’ ye mind, my lady,” replied Mary simply, “ye said ye would be glad to see me whenever I came to town.” She raised those marvelous, innocent eyes of hers and smiled. Why did Lady Glencairn shrink from that frank and childlike openness of regard? Why did she for one brief moment feel herself to be vile and beneath contempt? She turned to where Mrs. Dunlop was conversing animatedly with their hostess, a flush akin to shame mantling her haughty face.
“My dear Duchess,” she was saying apologetically, “pray pardon our late arrival, but I assure you ’tis not made for effect; our carriage broke down on the way.”
Eppy started in amazement; had she overheard her spiteful remark?
The Duchess graciously inclined her stately head. “So glad you got here at all, Mrs. Dunlop,” she said.