CHAPTER VI.
ANNOT DRUMMOND.
Next morning when Hester, in the most becoming of matutinal costumes, pale rose colour, which so suited her dark hair and complexion, was presiding over the breakfast table, and Sir Harry was about to dip into his newspapers, selecting a letter from a few that lay beside her plate, she said:
'Papa, I have a little surprise for you—a letter from Annot Drummond, my cousin; she comes here to-night en route to Earlshaugh, invited by Maud, your sister,' she added to Roland; 'by this time she will be leaving London at Euston.'
'"London, that maelstrom of mud and mannikins," as it has perhaps been unjustly stigmatized by George Gilfillan,' said Sir Harry, laughing, 'and she is to be here to-night—that is sudden.'
'But Annot was always a creature of impulse, papa!'
'So some think,' said her father; 'but to me her impulses always seemed to come by fits and starts. However, I shall be delighted to see the dear child.'
'The "dear child" is now nearly eighteen, papa.'
'Heavens—how time runs on!—eighteen—yes.'
'And she and I are to go to Earlshaugh together in October—that is if you can spare me, papa,' added Hester, colouring, and keeping the silver urn between herself and Roland.
'Excellent; I shall make up a little party for the covert shooting, to entertain Skene of Dunnimarle, Jack Elliot of ours, and one or two more, if I can,' said the latter. 'I have been so long away from Earlshaugh; but doubtless dear little Maud and the—the stepmother——'