‘There might be other reasons for that,’ said Isabel under her breath.
‘What are ye saying? The man has worshipped the very ground ye trod on since you were little older than Mary,’ said Jean seriously; ‘I’m no saying I understand it for my part. He’s aulder than me—and figure me fashing my head about a young lad! But if he wearies at the last it can only have been your blame.’
‘I think it would be best not to speak of such things,’ said Isabel, with some heat, ‘before the bairns.’
‘Maybe you’re right there,’ Jean muttered, after a moment’s pause. And then she resumed, ‘Mary, you’ll get your seam if there’s nae lessons to be learned to-night—unless Isabel gives you some of her poetry—and, Jamie, get you your books. If you’re diligent, maybe Isabel will gie ye a hand. Poor thing!’ she said to herself, as she turned away to put her room in order after the meal, ‘it’s the best thing I can do for her—better than sitting hand idle and no a creature to speak to her. If she were a lass that could go to service, or even that could stir about the house. But her that was never brought up to do anything, and a lady born!’
The next morning, when Isabel was putting her books in order, and wiping the dust from the shelves he had put up for her, and pleading his cause to herself, Miss Catherine suddenly appeared at the Glebe. A more unexpected visitor could scarcely have been, and for the moment Isabel was disposed to be stately and affronted. Miss Catherine paused, almost before she spoke, to look round and observe the change in the room. She shook her head as she kissed Isabel. ‘Poor man!’ she said; ‘poor man! that’s what his wisdom suggested to him. To make your own house pleasant and cheery when he should have thought of nothing but tempting you to his.’ This was a sufficient indication of her mission. She sat down steadily with the air of establishing herself for serious work, and pointed Isabel to a seat near her. ‘My dear, sit down; I have a great deal to say to you,’ she said; and the girl’s impatient temper fired at once.
‘Whatever you have to say, Miss Catherine, it can surely be said while I am doing my work,’ she said, turning to her books. But she was held by the glittering eye which her old friend, half-contemptuous of her petulance, fixed upon her, and after a vain attempt to continue her occupation, turned round and dropped into the indicated place. ‘You have not said anything yet,’ said Isabel, but with a feeling that already she was having the worst.
‘I might speak to my housemaid while she was dusting,’ said Miss Catherine, ‘but not to you, Isabel Diarmid. I have come to ask you but one question, my dear. Are you going to be a reasonable creature, and make yourself and an honest man happy? or do you mean to deliver yourself over to weariness and this do-nothing life?’
‘I have plenty to do,’ said Isabel, startled, but without sufficient presence of mind to answer anything but the first natural scrap of self-defence on which she could lay her hand.
‘It is not true, Isabel; you have nothing to do worthy a young woman of good connections by the mother’s side, as you are. And when you have better in your power, and a life that is worth your while, and a man that is fond of you, do you mean to tell me you will throw them all away?’
‘Miss Catherine,’ said Isabel, almost crying, ‘you have been very kind; but I don’t know why you should question me like this. At home I am not so good as you; you don’t care to come to see me or take notice of me. Why should you take any interest in me now?’