Mrs Blair had known Peter Butler all his life, and she had often received him in a very different place from the low room into which he passed, but never with a more kindly welcome than she gave him now. She had none of that kind of pride which would make her shrink from a necessary exposure of her poverty to eyes that had seen her prosperity; and it was with no trace of embarrassment that she rose, and offered him the armchair to rest himself in after his long walk; but he declined it with respectful deference.
“Many thanks, Mrs Blair, ma’am,” said he, seating himself on the end of a form near the door. Placing his hat beneath it, he took from his pocket a black silk cap, and deliberately settled it on his head.
“You’ll excuse me, ma’am: I have used myself to wear this in the school, till it wouldna be safe to go without it. At my time of life, health mustna be trifled with, you ken.”
Mrs Blair begged the master to make himself comfortable, and there was a moment’s pause.
“I have taken the liberty to give yon laddie Archie a play this afternoon. I would like to have a few words with you concerning him, if you have no objection.”
Mrs Blair eagerly assented, and Lilias’ hand was arrested in the act of lifting the dinner from the hearth to the table. And she stood gazing at the master with a look so entreating as slightly to discompose him.
“It’s not ill I have to tell of him, lassie. You need not look so like frightened.”
Lilias set down the dish in some confusion.
“And if you’ll allow me to suggest, ma’am, you’ll take your dinner while it’s in season. My news will keep.”
The master had dined before he left home; but, with a delicacy that would have done honour to a man of greater pretension, he accepted Mrs Blair’s invitation as frankly as it was frankly given. A humble meal it was, and the master’s eyes grew dim, remembering other days, as, reverently lifting his cap from his broad, bald brow, he prayed for God’s blessing on the offered mercies.