"Yes," in a very low tone.
"Bless the lass! nay, nor no thought of it," answered the housekeeper.
"I was thinking that perhaps it would be well if he were not, that is all," explained Salome, a little confusedly.
That night, as she undressed to retire to bed, she looked at herself in the glass critically for the first time in her life.
It was not a pretty face that was reflected there. It was a pale, thin, dark face, that might have been redeemed by the broad, smooth forehead, shaped round by bands of dark brown hair, and lighted by the large, tender, thoughtful gray eyes, had not that forehead worn a look of anxious care, and those eyes an expression of eager inquiry.
"But then I am so plain—so very, very plain," she said to herself, as if uttering the negation of some preceding train of thought.
And with a deep sigh she retired to rest.
The next day Girzie Ross herself was the first to speak of the young marquis.
"I hae been thinking, young leddy, what garred ye ask me gin the young laird, were troth plighted. And I mistrust ye must hae heard these fule stories anent his hardship, having a sweetheart at Ben Lone. There's nae truth in sic tales, me leddy. No that I'm denying she's a handsome hizzy, this Rose Cameron; but she's nae one to mak' the young laird forget his rank. Ye'll no credit sic tales, me young leddy."
"I have heard no tales of the sort," said Salome, looking up in surprise.