“But you’re old, Charlie Heriot,” said Miss Jean, “old to be tutor to a little bairn. Granting that you may live as long as I have done, for instance, that’s about fifteen years—and nobody can calculate on more—that would leave the boy just at the worst age. You’re spare and thin, and I would not wonder if ye were one of the long-lived ones of the family; but granting even that you were spared to be as old as me—”
“You’ll live twenty years yet, Aunt Jean,” said Mr. Charles, who did not like the turn the conversation was taking.
“That may be, or may not be,” said Miss Jean. “I’m very indifferent; a year sooner or a year later matters very little. To be sure when you’re well over your threescore and ten, there’s no saying—but it’s never to be calculated on. If this bairn is young Tom’s lawful son, as you say, and but three months old, poor bit thing, he must have young guardians. The like of Mr. Fanshawe here now; or as women are coming into fashion, Marjory—”
Mr. Charles gave an alarmed look at the audacious proposer of such a conjunction. He was fairly frightened by it. He looked up with a certain consternation, to meet the bold response of Miss Jean’s black eyes, twinkling with satisfaction at the thought of having thus bewildered him.
“Ye need not look at me in that alarmed manner, Charlie Heriot,” she said. “There’s nothing but what is strictly reasonable in what I say.”
“If I were thought worthy of such a charge,” said Fanshawe, startled too. “I should, of course, do my very best to acquit myself of the trust; but I have, at present, no connection with Fife—I have no claim to such a distinction; there must be many others much better qualified—”
“It’s not a thing we can discuss,” said Mr. Charles, hurriedly; “it is not in our hands; there are a great many preliminaries. And in the first place there is one that’s not pleasant. These young women, how are they to be told? They must be told. What would you say, Aunt Jean, would be the best thing to do? Perhaps as you are going that way, if you were to see them and break it in a quiet way? a lady is always the best to do that; there’s more delicacy, and more sympathy, and understanding, and so forth. Some clergymen have a gift that way; but a lady is always the best.”
“I am much obliged to you, Charlie Heriot,” said Miss Jean, “but in my opinion you’re the only bearer of the news that’s possible. Nobody can do it but you.”
“Do you really think so?” said Mr. Charles. “Now I cannot help thinking a stranger would be better—or perhaps a letter—that might be the best of all—a letter now. Unless Mr. Fanshawe here, that could bring no painful recollections to their minds, a young man quite unconnected with everything—and pleasant manners, and all that—would be so obliging as to drive out, and just prepare them a little. My niece Marjory has so much confidence in Mr. Fanshawe. It is not a long drive, and the country is looking its very best. Would it be too much to ask, as a friend of the family?” Mr. Charles said, with an insinuating look.
Miss Jean’s chuckle, and the look she gave him out of her sharp black eyes, overcame Fanshawe’s gravity more than the proposal thus anxiously made. Even Mr. Charles saw the fun, and relieved himself and his anxiety with a long low laugh, under protest as it were—for laughing was far from appropriate at this juncture of the family affairs. But the most amusing thing of all was that, though they laughed at the idea of entrusting Fanshawe with this mission, after much talk and many suggestions, and a great deal of comic remark, it was after all he who went. He consented—because it was his fate, because it was propitiating Marjory’s friends, because it was a proof to her of his readiness to serve all connected with her; but chiefly, it must be allowed, because it was his fate. This was what he was born into the world for; to do what people asked him, to serve others, to be good for much so far as other people were concerned, but good for little to himself. Miss Jean looked on with a certain grim amusement while it was all being settled. She gave her opinion on the subject with her usual frankness.