“Oh, yes, yes—I do not care how long—only—if you saw him, mother, if you just saw him, I know how you would like him!”
“Would I?” said Mrs. Aytoun, smiling: “well, we shall see; but now dry your eyes, and let us go back to James again.”
They returned to the parlor. James sat at the table, the letter lying before him, and his face exceedingly grave. He was very much disturbed and troubled. He did not well see what to do.
For some time there was little conversation between them—the mother and son consulted together with their grave looks. Little Alice, again sadly cast down, sat silent by the fireside. At last her brother addressed her with a sort of timidity, blushing almost as she did herself, when he mentioned the name.
“Alice, when does Mr. Ross come to Edinburgh?”
Mr. Ross! so cold it sounded and icy—would not Lewis be his brother?
“In a fortnight,” murmured Alice.
“A fortnight! then, mother, I think my best plan is to go down to Strathoran myself and make inquiries. In a matter which involves two such important things as the happiness of Alice, and the honor of our family, there is no time for delay. I shall start to-morrow.”
“Can you spare the time?” said his mother—while Alice looked up half-glad, half-sorrowful—it might keep Lewis from coming to Edinburgh—at the same time, James was so sure to be convinced by Lewis’s irresistible eloquence, and the gentler might of Anne.
“I must spare it, mother,” was the answer, “my ordinary business is not so important as this. What do you think—am I right?”