'Captain Goring, I see, uses sealing wax—good custom—good old style,' said he, returning that officer's note to Alison, who prized it rather more than he knew; 'uses a shield too—the chevron and annulets of the Gorings of Sussex—not a crest; every trumpery fellow sticks one on his notepaper now—the crest that never shone on a helmet.'
So, from this circumstance, Bevil Goring rose in the estimation of the baronet, who knew all Burke's Armory by rote.
The luncheon lay heavy on poor Alison's heart; she thought of their cuisine, as it too often was—refined and dainty though her father's tastes were—meat roasted dubiously, then made up into stews and lumpy minces, with rice puddings, and she shivered with dismay, and had long and deep consultations with old Mrs. Rebecca Prune and her daughter Daisy; but when the day came her fears were ended, and she began 'to see her way,' as she said, and contemplated the table with some complacency.
In her blue morning robe, trimmed with white, which suited so well her complexion and the character of her beauty, she was cutting and placing in crystal vases the monthly roses and few meagre flowers with fern leaves from her tiny conservatory at the sunny end of the house to decorate the table.
'Don't they look pretty, papa?' she exclaimed, almost gleefully.
'Yes, but you, pet Alison, are the sweetest flower of them all,' said Sir Ranald, kissing the close white division of her rich brown hair.
'"Dawted dochters mak' daidling wives," they say,' muttered old Archie, who was busy polishing a salver; 'but our dear doo, Miss Alison, will never be ane o' them, Sir Ranald.'
For the honour of the house, Archie had been most anxious to furnish his quota to the feast, and said—
'Miss Alison, I am sure I would catch ye some troots in the burn owre by, though the weeds ha'e grown sae in the water, if you would like them.'
'Thanks, Archie, you old dear,' replied Alison, laughing, 'but we won't require them.'