“So you have come up, too, to see the view,” said the lady; “I never knew you had any love for scenery and the beauties of nature.”
“Do you call this scenery?” said Frank, who, in his mother’s presence, felt it necessary to be superior as she was. “If you could only have the ruins in the foreground, instead of this great bit of sea, and those nasty little black rocks.”
“They may be little,” said John, with all the sudden heat of a son of St. Rule’s, “but they’re more dangerous than many that are far bigger. I would not advise you to go near them in a boat. Father, isn’t that true?”
“It is true that it is a dangerous coast,” said Mr. Buchanan, “that is the reason why no ship that can help it comes near the bay.”
“I don’t care for that kind of boating,” said Frank. “Give me a wherry on the river.”
“Give you a game—a ball, or something,” said his mother, exasperated. “You ought to get up something to amuse the young ladies. Doesn’t Mrs. Buchanan allow dancing? You might teach them, Frank, some of the new steps.”
“We want you for that, mater,” said the lad.
“Oh, I can’t be bothered now. I’ve got some business to talk over with Mr. Buchanan.”
Frank looked malicious and laughed, and Mrs. Mowbray laughed, too, in spite of herself. The suggestion that she was reducing the minister to subjection was pleasant, even though it was an interruption. Meanwhile, Mr. Buchanan and his son stood gazing, absolutely unable to understand what it was all about. John, however, not used to badinage, seized with a firm grip the arm of the new-comer.
“Come away, and I’ll take you into the Castle,” he said, giving a drag and push, which the other, less vigorous, was not able to resist.