“And this is Archie,” she said, transferring Marion’s somewhat unwilling hot, little gloved hand to her left, and holding out the other to the boy. He for his part made no answer, but gave her a quick look, and then withdrew his eyes. “Your father is too busy to think about us till the luggage is all right,” she said; “but I hope we are going to be, we three, very great friends.”
“Oh, we’ll be all that,” said Marion with a laugh, working her hand out of Evelyn’s hold. Archie made no reply; he too drew his hand away from her as soon as she had shaken it, which was the only thing, so far as he was aware, that any one could want to do with another person’s hand. He gave her a second look as he did this, which Evelyn did not perceive, but in which Mary’s eyes made a little, a very little essay of a reply to her, had she but seen it. She stood by them a moment, not knowing how to proceed further, with the little crowd of the pier pressing round, and the wheelbarrow for the luggage knocking against the group. “Is that our carriage?” said Evelyn. “Don’t you think the best thing you could do would be to put your sister and me into it, until your father gets through his troubles?” Put her into it! Archie had not an idea what she meant. Was he to lift her up and set her down in it, like a doll? He stared and hung about on those loose legs of his, which could not even stand firm, and followed her awkwardly to the carriage, where the footman stood opening the door. What was there for Archie to do? The footman was there to help them in, if they needed to be helped in. He followed them, and hung about, the most unnecessary personage. The footman belonged to the turn-out, he was in his proper place; but where was the need of Archie? Evelyn took pity upon him, when she saw his helpless looks. “Go and see if you can be of use to your father,” she said. Of use to his father! when there were two servants with his father. It was their business, not Archie’s. He turned and went reluctantly back again, with his idle legs and his hands in his pockets. The Archie of Sauchiehall Road would have picked up a portmanteau and carried it in with the greatest cheerfulness; but this was the Archie of Rosmore.
“Well, there you are,” said Rowland, shaking hands with him cursorily. “Just show Stanchion, will you, where the cart is for the luggage. I suppose they’ve sent something to bring him up and Mrs. Rowland’s maid.”
Archie knew nothing about it, and said so. “You said you had given all the directions.”
“So I did, but you might show the man the way at least,” said Rowland, hurrying forward to the carriage. Archie stood among the crowd, with the boxes and barrows bumping at his legs, for a full minute more, then, as his better angel began to get the advantage, took one hand out of his pocket, and made a step to the tall and fussy valet, who stood among a mountain of boxes. “Yonder’s the cart from the House,” he said, pointing to the highway, where the cart and dog-cart stood among the trees. “It’s no use telling me yonder’s the cart. You’ll better lend a hand, young man, or how are them boxes to get there?” said Mr. Rowland’s gentleman, who prided himself in being a better gentleman than his master. To understand the rage that boiled up in Archie’s breast, it would be necessary to fathom the angry contempt with which a Scotch clerk of the humbler kind, but capable of being a great merchant one day, or even the Scotch artisan, regards a domestic servant, however magnificent. Archie could have slain Mr. Stanchion where he stood. He did not laugh, as his father’s son ought to have done, at the mistake. As he swung round on his heel, his father called out from the carriage, “Hallo, Archie, Mrs. Rowland wants to know if you’re coming with us: make haste.” He stared a moment with a sullen countenance, and then, turning again, walked quickly off without a word.
“He says he would rather walk,” said Evelyn, “which is what young men generally do.”
“I did not hear him say a word.”
“Nor me, papa,” said Marion, with a laugh. She thought Archie’s “sulks” were a good joke, and, to do her justice, saw no harm in them, nor anticipated any consequences from his ill temper. “We just never mind,” she added, feeling mistress of the position, “when he’s in an ill key.” And Marion was very gracious to her father and his wife as they drove home. She pointed out to Mrs. Rowland various points of view. “That’s the Chieftain’s Leap, but it’s nothing to see, just a red scaur, and trees growing all about; but a little further on is a good view of Greenock and the docks and the big chimney smoking, and up there you can see down upon Kilrossi, where everybody goes for the salt water—for the sea-bathing, I mean.”
“The salt water is a very picturesque description,” said Evelyn, “and full of local colour.” She laughed at herself for her own words, but it was better to make talk of any kind, than to see that cloud settling down on her husband’s face.
“And down there,” said Marion, “is Rankin’s cottage, the old gamekeeper who has the dogues. He is a cripple creature himself since he had his accident, but the dogues are very nice little things. Archie has bought two. He says they will be good for watch-dogs about the House. And Rankin himself is a very funny old man to talk to—but I do not care for him, for he is always on about Lady Jean.”