“What would you say to Miss Ada Mina!” continued Mrs. Bairnsfather. “Miss Jeanie, I suppose, I must not speak of now.”
Ada Coulter shook her curls indignantly. She, full sixteen, and receiving the homage of an Honorable Giles, to be “scorned” with a minister of five and thirty!
“Or Miss Ross?” said the mischief-making Mrs. Bairnsfather.—”They would make an excellent couple, I am sure.”
“I won’t have that,” said Lewis. “I have engaged Anne, Mrs. Bairnsfather; if she does not take my man, I’ll disown her.”
“Anne, I want you,” said Marjory Falconer: “come here.”
“Or Miss Falconer herself?” said the indefatigable Mrs. Bairnsfather turning sharp round, and directing the attention of all and sundry to Marjory’s face, perfectly scorching as it was, with one of her overwhelming, passionate blushes, “and that would secure the contrast which people say is best for peace and happiness.”
Miss Falconer tried to laugh—the emphasis on the word peace had not escaped her; she slid her arm through Anne’s and left the room. The dark figure behind the curtain, followed her with his eye; laughed within himself a mighty secret laugh, and came out of his concealment, to the immense discomfiture of Mrs. Bairnsfather, and the great mirth of Giles and Ada.
“That abominable woman!” exclaimed Marjory, as they went down stairs.
“Hush,” said Anne, “she is the minister’s wife.”
“The minister’s wife! there is never any peace where she is.—She is a pretty person to think she can understand—”