"Yes. But don't you see," explained Kitty, "it's all happened so suddenly. A little while ago we thought Nan cared for someone else and now we don't want her to rush off and tie herself up with anyone in a hurry—and be miserable ever after."
"I'm no' in favour of long engagements."
"In this case a little delay might have been wiser before any engagement was entered upon," said Lord St. John.
"I don't hold with delays—nor interfering between folks that have promised to be man and wife. The Almighty never intended us to play at being providence. If it's ordained for Nan to marry Roger Trenby—marry him she will. And the lass is old enough to know her own mind; maybe you're wrong in thinking her heart's elsewhere."
Then, catching an expression of dissent on Kitty's face, she added shrewdly:
"Oh, I ken weel he's nae musician—but it's no' a few notes of the piano will be binding husband and wife together. 'Tis the wee bairns build the bridges we can cross in safety."
There was an unwontedly tender gleam in her hard-featured face. Kitty jumped up and kissed her impulsively.
"Aunt Eliza dear, you've a much softer heart than you pretend, and if Nan weren't happily married you'd be just as sorry as the rest of us."
"Perhaps Eliza's right," hazarded St. John rather uncertainly. "We may have been too ready to assume Nan won't be happy with the man she's chosen."
"I know Nan," persisted Kitty obstinately. "And I know she and Roger have really nothing in common."