"Why?"
They were standing opposite each other, looking into each other's faces, and the beauty of his, the unconsciousness of hers, held them both captive.
"Because in all probability you would marry."
There was a silence for a moment, but Paul Macleod, no mean judge of character, partly because of the complexity of his own, had rightly gauged the measure of what he had to deal with. What many girls might have deemed an impertinence Marjory passed by as a mere truism.
"I have often thought of that myself," she replied quietly; "but I think you are mistaken."
It was his turn now to put that terse, unconditional "Why?"
"I am not likely to marry; as uncle used to say, I have not purchasing power equal to my requirements."
"Meaning, of course, that your ideal is too high. I should have fancied so. You are very young, Miss Carmichael. And I am old; besides, ten years knocking about in Indian cantonments disposes effectually of the theory of twin souls. It is very beautiful, no doubt; but I fancy mine must have died in the measles, or some other infantile ailment. It did not survive to riper years, at any rate. But here comes Mrs. Cameron, so I shall escape scathing this time. I generally do."
Marjory felt she could well believe it, palpably unjust though such immunity might be, as she watched the laird give back the fervid greeting of the Reverend James Gillespie, who followed close on the tray of cake and wine.
"My dear sir; welcome to the Glen," cried the young clergyman. "I have been up at the Big House, and, hearing you were at the Lodge, ventured to follow you. As parish clergyman----"