“If they truly love one another—that is the chief thing.”
Mr Dawson laughed.
“They do that.”
“And what does Jean say?”
“She’ll tell you herself. There has been little time to say any thing. He is to be brought over to see you to-day. I wished to send for you, but Jean said it was more becoming that he should come to you. Jean has her ain notions about most things.”
“Ay, she has that.”
“And ye’ll come hame with them to Saughleas? There are two or three things that I would like to have a word with you about. And ye’ll be sure to come.”
But Miss Jean did not promise. She liked best to be at Saughleas when there were no strangers there, she said. Mr Dawson was ready to resent her calling Mr Manners a stranger, so she said nothing. The matter could be decided afterwards.
Probably Jean was only thinking of what was due to her aunt, when she insisted on taking their new friend to make her acquaintance in her own house. But it was a wise thing to do for other reasons than Miss Jean’s “dignity,” which her niece might very well have left to take care of itself.
The house was like herself,—quiet, simple, unpretending, but with a marked character of its own; and no one could fail to be impressed with his first glimpse of Miss Jean, sitting in her quaint parlour, with its shelves of brown old books, its great work-basket, and its window looking to the sea. She was an old woman now, and not very strong; but the inward calm which earthly trouble had no power to disturb, had kept disfiguring wrinkles from her face, and the soft wavy hair that showed under her full-bordered cap was still more brown than grey.