Evan had loved Eveline as a maiden; he had trained himself to suffer, endure, and think of her as a wife; but now he thanked God that he had not to think of her as a mother—the mother of a wretched little Puddicombe!
Lady Aberfeldie, who had fresh views concerning her daughter, was somewhat irate when—on her return from the city of the Caliphs and Khedives—the latter, with perfect deliberation, informed her that Evan Cameron had been at the villa to see Allan, and had paid her a long visit.
'He spoke of his old fancy for you, no doubt?' said Lady Aberfeldie, rather freezingly.
'He did, mamma,' was the candid reply.
'He had not the hardihood to ask you to marry him?'
'Mamma!'
'Already—I mean.'
'Of course not.'
'But I suppose he will presume to do so in time?'
'I have no doubt of it, dearest mamma,' replied Eveline, attempting to kiss her; but my Lady Aberfeldie was in no fit of effusion, and coldly tendered her cheek. 'Was not his escape miraculous, mamma?'