“Nonsense! I think him good enough for anybody that will take him. He is a very good man—what there is o’ him,” added she, under her breath. “But it will be time enough to speak about it, when there is a chance of its happening. I’m no weel pleased with Rosie. If it werena that, as a rule, I dinna like to meddle with such matters, I would have a word with her myself. The bairn doesna ken her ain mind, I’m thinking.”
The next day was rainy, but not so rainy as to prevent Mr Snow from fulfilling his promise to take Mr Millar to see some wonderful cattle, which bade fair to make Mr Nasmyth’s a celebrated name in the county, and before they came home again, Mrs Snow took the opportunity to say a word, not to Rose, but to Graeme, with regard to her.
“What ails Rosie at your brother’s partner, young Mr Millar?” asked she. “I thought they would have been friends, having known one another so long.”
“Friends!” repeated Graeme. “Are they not friends? What makes you speak in that way, Janet?”
“Friends they are not,” repeated Mrs Snow, emphatically. “But whether they are less than friends, or more, I canna weel make out. Maybe you can help me, dear.”
“I cannot, indeed,” said Graeme, laughing a little uneasily. “I am afraid Charlie’s visit is not to give any of us unmingled pleasure.”
“It is easy seen what she is to him, poor lad, and I canna but think—my dear, you should speak to your sister.”
“But, Janet, Rosie is not an easy person to speak to about some things. And, besides, it is not easy to know whether one may not do harm, rather than good, by speaking. I did speak to her last night about—about Mr Perry.”
“About the minister! And what did she answer? She cares little about him, I’m thinking. It’s no’ pretty in her to amuse herself so openly at his expense, poor man, though there’s some excuse, too—when he shows so little discretion.”
“But, amusing herself, Janet! That is rather hard on Rosie. It is not that, I think.”