“Nor me,” said Marion, “it’s just out of the question. I would never have spoken to him if he had dared to offer that to you.”
“I would have thought it nae discredit,” said Mrs. Brown. “And ye’ll maybe, with all your pride, tell me what’s to become of me now? It’s little, very little, I have laid away. My heart was aye set on to do ye full justice. A’ my young days ye have had the best of them. I’ve seen many a good place go past me, and even a good man, but I would never gie up my trust; and now ye are going away without a tear in your e’e, or a word in your mouth for your auld aunty—that was just too faithful to you. And I’ll have to take a place somegate for my living. He might have given me the offer at the least.”
“If you think my father will leave you without a provision,” said Archie——
“A provision!” said Marion, more doubtfully, “that’s a great thing—but a little assistance you may be quite sure—and we’ll always come and see you, and bring you anything we can. Aunty, ye need not be taking up time with little things of yours when there’s us to settle about. We must go, as papa says we are to go. Is there anything I will be wanting to wear?”
“We might all die and be buried, and Mey’s first thought would be what she would have to wear!”
“That’s reasonable enough,” said the aunt; “she would want mourning if ony one of the family—but we needna think of that till the time comes. There wouldna be much wanted for me,” she went on, beguiled, however, by the doleful, delightful subject, though it was contrary to her own injunction; “there’s little crape ever wasted on a poor aunty in these days. ‘Oh, it’s no a very near relation—just our aunt,’ they will say, and oot in a’ the colours of the rainbow in six months or less.”
“Aunty Jane,” said Marion, in her calm little voice; “it’s no a funeral we’re thinking of, but to go down to Rosmore on Tuesday to meet papa—and mamma.”
“I wouldna stoop to call her mamma. I would call her just Mrs. Rowland, as he says.”
“I have settled in my mind about that,” said the girl, “but not about my frock. Will I wear that one he bought me at MacColl’s shop? The body’s not made, but Miss Peebles would do it if she got her orders to-night; or I might wear my silk? If you would tell me what you think about that, and just let the other things alone.”
“Ye have nae mair feeling,” protested Mrs. Brown, “than a little cat—as ye are.”