“What are you saying about me, Mary?”
“I was saying you were wiser than most men, Doctor,” said the Minister’s wife, “and yet not so wise but what you are led away by a bonnie face, like other men.”
“It is not, however, the bonnie face in this instance,” said Hepburn, feeling his mind much lightened by being united with the Doctor in a broad and general accusation. “It is the sad position, the melancholy circumstances. To see so young a creature left solitary; arriving among strangers, with little children dependent on her, and no one to sustain her—”
Mrs. Murray was too tender-hearted to resist the pathos of this picture.
“And that’s true!” she said; “that’s true. Poor thing! She may be a little carried away by her new position; but I cannot think she’s without feeling. No, she’s not without feeling. What she said about old Mr. Charles was very true.”
“That is all very well,” said the Doctor; “but we cannot allow such proceedings as these young women contemplate—not if I had to appeal myself for an interdict to the Court of Session. An admirable specimen of old domestic architecture, really in very good preservation, though the roof is gone in some places—and fully described in my account of the parish. No, no; it will never do. If you have any influence with them, John (the Doctor had never said Johnnie in his life), you should let them know seriously that this kind of thing is quite out of character—quite out of character! I have always defended the mother’s rights in the way of guardianship; but an attempt like this makes me doubt.”
“Well, Doctor, I must say I wonder at you,” said Mrs. Murray; “because a young woman does not understand your domestic architecture, as you call it, you begin to doubt whether she should have the care of her own bairns! I cannot see the connection.”
“Perhaps not, perhaps not, my dear,” said Dr. Murray; “but it’s very reasonable, for all that.”
Hepburn felt with secret content that he had escaped in the midst of this discussion, and he came boldly to a pause at the next corner, to take leave of his companions. But he was not so safe as he supposed.
“I am going to write to St. Andrews to-day,” said Mrs. Murray, as she gave him her hand. “I will tell Marjory that you are very kind to Mrs. Charles, and go to see her every day. It is very kind, though it is, perhaps, a little dangerous; but then, to be sure, you have a great deal of idle time on your hands.”