“It’s perhaps not the man that has ever been wanting,” said the minister, with a half laugh.
“And how are you going to do without Susie?” said Mrs Ogilvy, always with great severity. “Who is to see the callants off to Edinburgh every morning, and learn the little ones their lessons? It will be a great handful for a grand lady like yon.”
“That’s just a mistake that is very painful to me,” said Mr Logan. “The lady that is going to be—my wife——”
“Your second wife, Mr Logan,” said Mrs Ogilvy, with great severity.
“I am meaning nothing else—my second wife—is not a grand lady, as you all suppose. She is just a sweet, simple woman—that would be pleased to do anything.”
“Is she going to learn the little ones their lessons, and be up in the morning to give the boys their breakfasts and see them away?”
Mr Logan waved his hand, as a man forestalled in what he was about to say. “There is no need for all that,” he said—“not the least need. The servant that has been with them all their days is just very well capable of seeing that they get off in time. And as for the little ones, I have heard of a fine school—in England.”
Mrs Ogilvy threw up her arms with a cry. “A school—in England!”
“Which costs very little, and is just an excellent school—for the daughters of clergymen—but, I confess, it’s clergymen of the other church: it is not proved yet if a Scotch minister will be allowed——”
“A thing that’s half charity,” said Mrs Ogilvy, scornfully. “I did not think, Mr Logan, that you, that are come of well-kent folk, would demean yourself to that.”