Marion hesitated. She was not quite sure how Miss Jean herself would like to hear that the young folk had been discussing her niece and her affairs so freely.
“It was only that he heard us. I’m ay vexing Mr Dawson, I think.”
“Are you?” said Miss Jean, smiling.
“Ay, am I. Don’t you mind the apple-tree that was broken, and don’t you mind?” several other circumstances that it vexed the girl to remember. But Jean herself coming in, the vexation of the moment could not be discussed and Marion was not sorry.
It had happened thus. She had come early to Saughleas with the young Petries intending to set out at once on an expedition that had been planned to the Castle, but something had delayed several of their party, and the younger folk were whiling away the time of waiting, chatting and laughing as they sat on the grass. By and by the well-known dog-cart passed.
“Haloo! There is your Englishman, Marion,” said Hugh Corbett. “I wonder he didn’t come in. He’ll be back again to go with us, unless we make haste to get away.”
“Well, and why should not he come with us? The more the merrier,” said his sister.
“And he’s no’ my Englishman,” said Marion with dignity; “and for that matter ye are only an Englishman yoursel’.”
“Only an Englishman! Just hear her!” said Hugh.
“And ye’re not even an Englishman. You are neither one thing nor the other,” said Grace Petrie laughing. “If ye were to bide a while in Portie, ye might maybe pass for a Scotchman, however.”