She sat down, but the minister did not seem in haste to speak. He was looking troubled and anxious, Graeme thought; and it suddenly came into her mind as she sat watching him, that her father was growing an old man. Indeed, the last seven years had not passed so lightly over him as over the others. The hair which had been grey on his temples before he reached his prime, was silvery white now, and he looked bowed and weary as he sat there gazing into the fire. It came into Graeme’s mind as she sat there in the quiet room, that there might be other and sadder changes before them, than even the change that Janet’s words had implied.
“My dear,” said the minister, at last, “has Mrs Nasmyth been speaking to you?”
“About—” Menie, she would have asked, but her tongue refused to utter the word.
“About Mr Snow,” said her father, with a smile, and some hesitation. Graeme started. She had quite forgotten.
“Mrs Greenleaf told me something—and—”
“I believe it is a case of true love with him, if such a thing can come to a man after he is fifty—as indeed why should it not?” said the minister. “He seems bent on taking Janet from us, Graeme.”
“Papa! it is too absurd,” said Graeme, all her old vexation coming back. Mr Elliott smiled.
“I must confess it was in that light I saw it first, and I had well nigh been so unreasonable as to be vexed with our good friend. But we must take care, lest we allow our own wishes to interfere with what may be for Mrs Nasmyth’s advantage.”
“But, papa, she has been content with us all these years. Why should there be a change now?”
“If the change is to be for her good, we must try to persuade her to it, however. But, judging from what she said to me this afternoon, I fear it will be a difficult matter.”