“He’s hame again. And I canna say I think he looks ower weel pleased,” said Mrs Cairnie.
“It is of Mary Keith he is thinking,” said her friend. “He has a feelin’ heart for a’ sae down as he looks. I doubt he has an ill half hour before him.”
In the mean time Jean and her father had reached the gate which opened into the garden of the High-street house. It was a large and well-built house, higher and with wider windows than most of the houses in Portie, and on the whole it was a suitable place of abode for a young man of George’s means and station. There was only a strip of green between it and the street, but behind it was a large walled garden into which Mr Dawson had never been since he left it for Saughleas long ago. Indeed he had hardly seen the house since the death of his wife. He never came to the town over the fields as the young people were in the way of doing, and he always turned into the High-street from the turnpike road at a lower point than this.
“Papa,” said Jean, arresting her hand which held the old-fashioned knocker of the door, “well go home to-night and come over in the morning. You are tired.”
“No, no. We’ll get it ower to-night,” said her father in a voice which he made gruff in trying to make it steady.
Jean followed the servant into the kitchen and lingered there a while, and Mr Dawson went alone into the once familiar rooms, and not a word of sorrow or sympathy was spoken between them, though the daughter’s heart ached for the pain which she knew was throbbing at the heart of her father. He was looking from the window over the garden to the sea, and he did not turn as Jean came in, so she did not speak, but went here and there giving a touch to the things over the arrangement of which she had spent time and taken pleasure during the last few weeks.
“You must have made yourself busy this while, Jean,” said her father coming forward at last. “And I must say you have done well. It is all that can be desired, I would think. There are some things coming from London, however.”
“Does it not look nice? George had his say about it all. I only helped. I think Marion will be pleased.”
“But they should have been guided by me, and come straight to Saughleas. That would have been the best way.”
“I’m no’ so sure. I think it was natural and right that George should wish to be the head of his own house. No, papa. You are master at Saughleas and ought to be, and I am mistress. Oh! yes, we would both have given up willingly enough, but then neither George nor Marion would have willingly taken our places. But never mind, papa. It will all come in time, and sooner than you think. And I like to think of George bringing his bride to the very house where you brought mamma.”