It was quite true, as Captain Harefield had said, that it was his sister who “put him up” to going on James Petrie’s invitation to the garden party that afternoon. The natural desire to get him off her hands, for the rest of the day was her only motive in urging it, and a sufficient one, for it was true that he was bored by the quiet of Blackford House, and that he did not suffer alone. But it was the unwonted energy of his admiring exclamations as soon as they had passed out of the gate of Saughleas, that had suggested the idea.
By “this and by that,” were they not beauties, these two girls? Who would have thought of coming upon two such without warning? Even his sister must acknowledge that they were beautiful.
She did acknowledge it, but there was something far more wonderful to her than their good looks. That two country girls—and Scotch country girls—should be found at home dressed as these two were, astonished her more than their beauty.
“They might have passed at any garden party of the season,” said she.
“Passed! I should think so. I don’t know about their gowns, but they would pass, I fancy.”
“She couldn’t have fallen on any thing to suit her style of face and figure better if she had made a study of it.”
“Perhaps she did,” said her brother, laughing. “Or perhaps they get their gowns from London.”
“No, they would probably have been dressed alike, in that case, and in the height of the fashion. The white one was very much like the dresses of other girls, but the other was unique. And they seemed nice, lady-like girls.”
“Did they not? And not so very Scotch.”
“Well, perhaps not so very—but rather so. But then I like the Scotch of Scotch people better than their English as a rule. However, the few words I heard them speak were softly and prettily spoken, and quite appropriate to the place and time. How it might seem elsewhere I could not say.”