“She is an outspoken lassie yon.”
“Ye canna judge her as ye might any o’ the common sort,” said Miss Jean shortly.
“I’m no’ seeking to judge her. She seems a nice lassie enough. I like her frank, free way.”
“She’s but a bairn—though she is the height of our Jean, and coming on to womanhood,” said Miss Jean with a sigh.
“Ay. She is a weel grown lassie,” said Mr Dawson, rising, and then he went away and moved up and down the walks, pausing at shrub or tree, or flower bed, as his manner was when he was at leisure, and he only returned in time to give Miss Jean his arm when they were called into the house.
That evening they were so fortunate as to have the company of James Petrie and his sisters, and several other young people, among whom was Mr Charles Scott, to whom the eldest Miss Petrie was engaged. The young people enjoyed themselves, but Marion was not able to forget the touch of Miss Jean’s fingers upon her arm, and she was rather grave and silent, the others thought. They had music, in which she took her part, singing a song or two, and then Miss Petrie played her masterpiece, a very grand piece indeed, in the midst of which Mr Dawson went out to the little gate to wait for his son.
He had gone there many times since that first night of his son’s coming home. He did not always wait till he came in sight. He moved away sometimes, as his footsteps drew near, slow to acknowledge to himself, or to let his son see how much his home coming meant to him. But to-night he waited.
“There are young folk at the house to-night,” said he, as though giving a reason for being in the garden at that hour.
“The Petries are there, and young Scott, who seems to be one of them. And your aunt is over and her visitor. Will you go and see them?”
“Oh! yes, surely; only I would need to go upstairs first. Jamie Petrie! What brings him here? I thought that was over,” said George with a laugh.