“The Rev. Mr. Campbell?” said Ran interrogatively as he offered his hand to the curate.
Mr. Campbell bowed assent.
“I am very glad to see you, sir. Mrs. Campbell, I presume? And Mrs. Montgomery, also? Ladies, I am very happy to make your acquaintance. Permit me to present you to Mrs. Hay,” said Ran.
And when this and all the other introductions were over and they were seated near the great open fire that the chill of the December evening made so welcome as well as so necessary, Mrs. Campbell, observing Judy’s painful, blushing shyness, and attributing it all only to her extreme youth and inexperience, and not at all to the conscious ignorance that she did not expect in the young bride, addressed conversation to her and tried to draw her out.
But Judy blushed and fidgeted and answered only in monosyllables. She was so absurdly afraid of falling into that dialect which some of her friends thought one of the quaintest, sweetest charms about her.
“You have lived most of your life in America?” said Mrs. Campbell, rather as stating a fact than putting a question.
“Yes, ma’am,” breathed Judy.
“I have never seen America, but my daughter here spent several months over there, and I think she was very much pleased with the country and the people—eh, Jennie?” inquired Mrs. Campbell with the intention of drawing Mrs. Montgomery into the conversation.
“Yes, I was, indeed. Everybody was so kind to me,” replied the young woman so heartily that Judy felt immediately drawn toward her, and thenceforth the intercourse of the three became easier.
Mr. Campbell, to promote a good, social understanding, also contrived to introduce the subject of mining in the gold fields of California. And here all his companions were, so to speak, at home. Every one, except the curate’s party, had something to contribute of instruction upon this matter. Even Judy forgot her fear of falling into dialect, and was led to speak freely of home life in the mining camps and woman’s work and mission there.