'How a young girl's mind always runs on love and marriage!' said Roland. 'But this little comedy you refer to, I never heard of it, save from yourself.'
'Indeed!' replied Annot, who, from cogent reasons of her own, was anxious to make the most of Skene's undoubted admiration for Hester. 'I've noticed them greatly in London.'
'I always knew that Malcolm was her unvarying admirer, who singled her out in the Edinburgh assemblies and balls elsewhere from the first, and had, of course, poured much sweet nonsense into her pretty little ears—treasured flowers she had worn, gloves, handkerchiefs, bits of ribbon, and all that sort of thing——'
'Which you all do?'
'That I don't admit, Annot.'
'Anyway, this absurd appreciation of each other's society was a source of great amusement to us in London,' she continued, not very fairly, so far as concerned Hester; but then Annot, a far-seeing young lady, was full of past preconceived suspicions and of present plans of her own.
'However, Annot, this little affair is nothing to us—to me,' added Roland, and oddly enough, with the slightest soupçon of pique in his glance and tone, as he saw Malcolm Skene, a tall and stately fellow, who might please any woman's eye—and did please the eyes of many—leading his dark-eyed and dark-haired cousin, not into the whirl of dances, nor to the refreshment-room, but—as if almost unconsciously—towards the entrance of the long and dimly-lighted conservatory which opened off the Red Drawing-room.
As Jack Elliot was too well-bred a man to attract attention by dancing too much with Maude, his fiancée, the observant Mr. Hawkey Sharpe saw, with no small satisfaction, that for nearly the remainder of the night he bestowed the most of his attention on strangers, wholly intent that Maude's little entertainment should please all and go off well, and that intention, which Mr. Sharpe misunderstood, was one of the causes that led to a serious misadventure at a future time.
Old Gavin Fowler, as he carried Ponto home in his arms to his own lodge, while the dog, conscious of kindness, whined and licked his weather-beaten hands, had muttered between his teeth to Roland:
'A better dog never entered a field! Eleven years has he followed me, and now he is thirteen years auld, and can yet find game wi' the youngest and the best whelp we hae; and to think that he should get sic a clowre from a clod like that! But dogs bark as they are bred—so does Hawkey Sharpe! He's like the witches o' Auchencraw; he'll get mair for your ill than your gude.'