One day while her father was away, they had been speaking of Mr Dawson’s wish that George should take his bride to Saughleas. Jean had said the best way to settle it would be for her to go away to a house of her own and then George could not refuse to take Marion to Saughleas.
“Weel,” said her aunt, “I dare say that might be brought about, if you could bring your mind to it.”
“I’ll bide a wee,” said Jean laughing, but her face grew grave enough in a minute or two.
“I have ay thought myself of some use to my father and George, but now George is away, and even my father would be content with Marion in my place.”
“That is scarcely the most cheerful way to look at it, or the wisest. And it’s no’ like you, Jean, my dear.”
“Are you thinking that I am jealous of Marion, Aunt Jean? No, it is not that I love her dearly, and I am glad for George, and for my father, since he is pleased. But are you sure that it gave you no pang to give up your brother to Mary Keith?”
Miss Jean smiled, and shook her head.
“I was growing an old woman even at that time. No, though she was almost a stranger to me, I was only glad for George. They loved one another.”
“And besides you were an independent woman, with a life and work of your own, and content.”
“Jean, my dear,” said her aunt, laying down her work and folding her hands on her lap, as was her way when she had something serious to say, “unless ye are keeping something in your heart that ye have never told to me, and there be a reason for it, I would hardly say that you are looking at things with your usual sense and cheerfulness. Do you think that your father has less need o’ you now than he has ay had? And do you think it is because o’ you that George is so set on taking his wife to the High-street? I see no great change that has come to you or your work, and though it is like giving up your brother in a sense, yet you are glad to do it. What has happened to you, my dear? Would it ease your heart to tell it to me?”