'Relinquishing to you all that portion of her fortune which does not go to charitable institutions?'
'Yes.'
'Poor girl! A silly and impetuous threat. But she will think better of it, Allan, by-and-by, and we have fully five years to count upon yet.'
But it did not seem as if the fair Olive was likely to change her mind soon, to judge by her bearing that evening, when, after dinner, the guests and family at Dundargue assembled in the drawing-room.
The repast was over, and thereafter, ere the ladies withdrew, Ronald Gair, with all his drones in order, his Crimean, Indian, and Ashanti medals glittering on his breast, had marched thrice round the table, according to his daily wont, in 'full fig,' looking as only a Highland piper or a peacock can look; and, to the amazement of Sir Paget Puddicombe and the disgust of Hawke Holcroft, winding up 'The Birks of Aberfeldie' by several warlike skirls at the back of his master's chair—the dinner, we say, was over, and the gentlemen had joined the ladies in the stately drawing-room, which was lighted by more than one glittering chandelier.
Lord Aberfeldie, his son, and Stratherroch, as they wore the kilt, had, of course, substituted for their rough shooting-jackets others of black cloth, with the irreproachable white vests and ties as evening costume, and had also assumed their silver-mounted dirks; while Holcroft and one or two more were de rigueur in the funereal attire, which a writer calls 'the butler-suit, the most hideous clothing yet hit upon by our species.'
In that brilliant drawing-room, grouped with well-bred people, were some curious elements of secret doubt and future discord that did not quite meet the eye.
Holcroft hung over the chair of Olive so closely that, at times, the tip of his long and waxed tawny moustache nearly touched her head, while she played with her fan, opening and shutting it listlessly as they conversed in low tones, he adopting a sentimental one, though it was ever his boast that he 'was not one of those fools who hoard by them dried flowers, locks of hair, and all that sort of thing.'
Quietly watched by Lady Aberfeldie, whose lips wore their set expression, Evan Cameron was entirely occupied with her daughter, while Allan seemed quite as intent on a new guest, Miss Logan of Loganlee, a girl possessed of considerable personal attractions; and his father talked politics with Loganlee himself, the parish minister, and Sir Paget Puddicombe, a short, pompous, and squat, but rather pleasant little man, with a prematurely bald head, which he had a way of jerking forward from his neck like a turtle, a rubicund face, two merry eyes, and whose age was rather doubtful, but too old any way for a girl of Eveline Graham's years, though he affected considerable juvenility of manner.
Lord Aberfeldie, who generally about that time, when at Dundargue, was wont to enjoy a quiet little game of chess or bezique with Olive or Eveline, was rather bored by the empressement with which the clergyman, Sir Paget, and Loganlee discussed politics and the prospects of the ministry.