“Old enough!” said Marion; “just so old that the parliament should stop people from making such fools of themselves. But there’s no fools like auld fools, as aunty says.”
“I don’t go so far as that,” said Archie, with an air of impartiality, “but of course it was a great disappointment. We’ve been brought up to think everything would be ours; and then, as my aunt says, there will perhaps be a large young family, and everything spoiled for May and me.”
A flush such as would not have misbecome a young lover—a glow of warmth and pleasure—came over Rowland. He scarcely noticed the boy’s reflection, for the curious shade of gratification which the last part of his speech gave him. A large young family;—not that perhaps: but the suggestion seemed to fill his veins with new life.
It was at this moment that a sound was heard upon the stairs, announcing Mrs. Brown’s speedy appearance; a rustling of silk, and tinkle of ornaments, and some half-whispered remarks to the servant girl—“Ye tawpy! why did ye no show the gentleman into the drawing-room? He’s just in the parlour, and that’s not the place for visitors. When I give a ring to the bell, mind that ye’re ready wi’ the cake and wine.”
“Dear me,” said Mrs. Brown, appearing in the room, and using her full and sonorous voice, “May, what tempted ye to bring a gentleman into this small bit of a room—just a family parlour, no fit for visitors, and the drawing-room standing useless up the stair? I havena heard your name, sir, but I’m sure I’m glad to see ye. I was in the middle of some femily business, and I could not get away before.”
Her appearance, however, contradicted this excuse. Mrs. Brown had put on a silk dress of a brilliant colour, which she called ruby, and which glistened and rustled exceedingly. She wore a big locket on her ample bosom; her watch, a large one, was twisted into her belt, depending from a long and heavy gold chain, which was round her neck. She had a number of rings upon her fingers. Her cap was an elaborate construction trimmed with ribbons of the same colour as her dress. Her appearance, indeed, as, large and ruddy and full of colour, she came in through the narrow doorway, turned the very atmosphere in the room to a rosy hue.
“Jane,” said Rowland, rising from his chair.
She gave a scream, and gazed at him with wondering eyes. “Wha are ye?—wha are ye?—for I’m sure that I’ve seen ye before. The lass has no sense to ask a visitor his name.”
“Is it possible that ye don’t know me, Jane?”
“God bless us!” she said, “it’s just Jims Rowland himself! Eh, man, I’m glad to see ye, Jims. Is it just you!—bairns, it’s your papaw. Lord bless me that I should been such a time putting on my cap, and Jims Rowland waiting for me down the stair.”