“But I must have it out with her, now that I have begun,” he said to himself as he rose and went to the door, at which a footstep had paused. Whoever it was, no one came in; and, shutting the door, he came and sat down again.
In the meantime, Shenac had been calling up a vision of the new minister’s wife, the one who had succeeded old Mr Farquharson, and, in view of the prettily-dressed, gentle-mannered, accomplished little lady that presented herself to her mind, she had repeated to herself, more emphatically,—
“No, I am not fit.”
So when Mr Stewart came back she was sitting with closely-folded hands, looking straight before her, very grave indeed. They were both silent for a moment; then Mr Stewart said,—
“Now, Shenac, tell me why.”
Shenac started. “You must know quite well.”
“But indeed I do not. Tell me, Shenac.”
It was not easy to do so. In the unspeakable embarrassment that came over her, she actually thought of flight.
“I am not educated,” she murmured. “I have never been anywhere but at home. I can only do common work. I am not fit.”
“Hamish thought you fit,” said Mr Stewart softly.