“I cannot stand this any longer,” cried Mrs. Mowbray, “take me please somewhere—into your study, Mr. Buchanan, where I can talk to you undisturbed. I am sure for once your wife will not mind.”
“My wife!” the minister said, in great surprise, “why should my wife mind?” But it was certain, that he did himself mind very much, having not the faintest desire to admit this intruder into his sanctum. But it was in vain to resist. He took her among the cabbages as she had suggested, but by this time the garden was in the possession of a young crowd penetrating everywhere, and after an ineffectual attempt among those cabbages to renew the conversation, Mrs. Mowbray so distinctly declared her desire to finish her communication in the study, that he could no longer resist. Mrs. Mowbray looked about her, before she had taken her seat, and went into the turret-room with a little curiosity.
“I suppose you never admit anyone here,” she said.
“Admit! No, but the two younger children used to be constantly here,” said Mr. Buchanan. “They have left some of their books about still. There was a great alliance between them a few years ago, but since Rodie grew more of a school-boy, and Elsie more of a woman——”
“Elsie! why, she is quite grown-up,” said the visitor. “I hope you don’t let her come here to hear all your secrets. I shouldn’t like her to hear mine, I am sure. Is there any other door?”
“There is neither entrance nor exit, but by my study door,” Mr. Buchanan said, somewhat displeased.
“Well, that is a good thing. I hope you always make sure when you receive your penitents that there is nobody there.”
The minister made no reply. He thought her a very disagreeable, very presuming and impertinent woman; but he placed a chair for her with all the patience he could muster. He had a faint feeling as if she had lodged an arrow somewhere in him, and that he felt it quivering, but did not inquire into his sensations. The first thing seemed to be to get rid of her as quickly as he could.
“Now we can talk at last,” she said, sinking down into the arm-chair, stiff and straight as it was—for the luxury of modern days had scarcely yet begun and certainly had not come as far as St. Rule’s—which Mrs. Buchanan generally occupied when she came upstairs to talk over their “whens and hows” with her husband.
“It is very serious indeed, and I am very anxious to know if you can throw any light upon it. Mr. Morrison, the man of business, tells me that old Mr. Anderson had lent a great deal of money to various people, and that it proved quite impossible to get it back. Was that really the case? or is this said merely to cover over some defalcations—some——”