“George,” said his sister, laying her hand on Marion’s and drawing her forward, “George, who is this? Have you forgotten our wee Maysie?”
No, that was not likely, he said; but he could scarcely have been more ceremoniously polite in his greeting had she been a strange young lady from London, and not the Marion whom he had petted and played with as a child. He lingered a moment beside her, asking about her mother, and if there had been any news from her brother, and then he went to his place at the table, and made himself busy with his duty there.
Something was said about the anticipated trip to the continent, and the time of setting out George had intended to leave at once if his sister were ready, but he found he must stay in Portie a few days longer.
“But next week, Jean, we must go, or give it up altogether.”
“The sooner you go now, the better, or the best season will be over,” said Mr Petrie.
“Oh! as to that, any season is good for what we mean to do.”
“Still, the sooner the better. Could not I do what would be necessary to let you go at once?” said his father.
George laughed and shook his head.
“I am afraid not. It seems I stand pledged to be best man at Captain Saugster’s marriage, and he has no idea of putting off the happy day for a month or more—since his time may be short. So he is to hasten it on instead, and I must wait and see him through it.”
“That will hardly be fair on Annie,” said Miss Jean.