Gibbie nodded again, and left her.
All this time he had not happened to discover that the lady who stood at the next counter, not more than a couple of yards from him, was Miss Kimble—which was the less surprising in that the lady took some trouble to hide the fact. She extended her purchasing when she saw who was shaking hands with the next stall-keeper, but kept her face turned from him, heard all Mrs. Croale said to him, and went away asking herself what possible relations except objectionable ones could exist between such a pair. She knew little or nothing of Gibbie’s early history, for she had not been a dweller in the city when Gibbie was known as well as the town-cross to almost every man, woman, and child in it, else perhaps she might, but I doubt it, have modified her conclusion. Her instinct was in the right, she said, with self-gratulation; he was a lad of low character and tastes, just what she had taken him for the first moment she saw him: his friends could not know what he was; she was bound to acquaint them with his conduct; and first of all, in duty to her old pupil, she must let Mr. Galbraith know what sort of friendships this Sir Gilbert, his nephew, cultivated. She went therefore straight to the cottage.
Fergus was there when she rang the bell. Mr. Galbraith looked out, and seeing who it was, retreated—the more hurriedly that he owed her money, and imagined she had come to dun him. But when she found to her disappointment that she could not see him, Miss Kimble did not therefore attempt to restrain a little longer the pent-up waters of her secret. Mr. Duff was a minister, and the intimate friend of the family: she would say what she had seen and heard. Having then first abjured all love of gossip, she told her tale, appealing to the minister whether she had not been right in desiring to let Sir Gilbert’s uncle know how he was going on.
“I was not aware that Sir Gilbert was a cousin of yours, Miss Galbraith,” said Fergus.
Ginevra’s face was rosy red, but it was now dusk, and the fire-light had friendly retainer-shadows about it.
“He is not my cousin,” she answered.
“Why, Ginevra! you told me he was your cousin,” said Miss Kimble, with keen moral reproach.
“I beg your pardon; I never did,” said Ginevra.
“I must see your father instantly,” cried Miss Kimble, rising in anger. “He must be informed at once how much he is mistaken in the young gentleman he permits to be on such friendly terms with his daughter.”
“My father does not know him,” rejoined Ginevra; “and I should prefer they were not brought together just at present.”