“Well, well, Mr. Coulter, I’ll not gainsay you; but to tell the truth, I’ve no notion of making young lads of family and breeding amateur ploughmen—I beg your pardon, Mr. Coulter, I mean no affront to you—you look upon it as a science, I know, and doubtless so it is; but—you see if Archie Sutherland could fall in with such an opening, as was waiting ready for me when I went to India, he might be home again, a wealthy man, before your harvests were grown.”
“James,” interposed Mrs. Coulter, “you are not looking at our young people—how happy they all seem, poor things. I do not think you have seen my Ada, Mr. Ambler, since she returned from Edinburgh.”
Mr. Ambler adjusted his spectacles, with a smile. “No, I dare say not. Is that her with Lewis Ross? No, that’s Mrs. Catherine’s little friend. Ay, ay, I see her—like what her mother used to be, in my remembrance. Mrs. Coulter, you must have great pleasure in your fine family.”
Mrs. Coulter smiled, well pleased.
“Do you know, Mr. Ambler,” said Mrs. Bairnsfather, “who that Miss Aytoun is?”
“Who she is? No, indeed, except a very bonnie little girlie. She is that, without dispute; but Mr. Foreman will know. Mr. Foreman, can you tell Mrs. Bairnsfather who that young lady is, at Lewis Ross’s hand?”
“Miss Aytoun, ma’am, a relative of Mrs. Catherine’s,” said the lawyer.
“We know that,” said Mr. Ambler. “Is that all her history? Aytoun—Aytoun—I have surely some associations with that name myself.”
“Very likely,” said Mr. Foreman, dryly. “She comes from the south country; her mother lives in Edinburgh, I believe, and is of a good family. I do not know anything further of the young lady, Mrs. Bairnsfather; that is, nothing at all interesting.”
“Which means,” said Mrs. Coulter aside to her husband, as their little group increased, and the conversation became more general, “that Mr. Foreman knows something very interesting about that pretty little girl. Mrs. Catherine is a client of his. Perhaps he thinks of Miss Aytoun for Walter. James, will you call Jeanie to me?”