The woman was trying to cast her spells over Robbie! There flew through Mrs Ogilvy’s mind a sensation which was not all disagreeable. “The woman” was odious to her; but she was a well-looking woman, and not an ignorant one, knowing something of the world; and Robert, with his big beard and his rough clothes, had given Mrs Ogilvy the profoundly humiliating consciousness that he had ceased to look like a gentleman; but the woman did not think so. The woman made her little coquettish advances to him as if he had been a prince. This was how his mother interpreted her visitor’s looks: she thought no better of her for this, but yet the sensation was soothing, and raised her spirits,—even though she scorned the woman for it, and her son for the hesitating smile which after a moment began to light up his face.
“However,” said the lady, hurriedly, “unless you wish for the minister on my heels, perhaps I had better go now. No? you will not be persuaded, indeed? You are more hard-hearted than I expected. So then there is nothing for it but that I must do it myself. There, Mr Ogilvy! You see we have secrets after all—mysteries! Two women can’t meet together, can they, without having something tremendous, some conspiracy or other, for each other’s ears?”
“I did not say so,” said Robert, not unresponsive, though taken by surprise.
“Oh no, you did not say so; but you were thinking so all the same. They always do, don’t they? Gentlemen have such fixed ideas about women.” She had overcome her little tremor, but was more coquettish than ever. While she held his mother’s hand in hers, she held up a forefinger of the other archly at Robert. “Oh, I’ve had a great deal of experience. I know what to expect from men.”
She led him out after her to the door talking thus, and down towards the gate; while Mrs Ogilvy stood gazing, wondering. It was one of her tenets, too, that no man can resist such arts; but the anger of a woman who sees them thus exerted in her very presence was still softened by the sensation that this woman, so experienced, still thought Robbie worth her while. He came back again in a few minutes, having accompanied the visitor to the gate, with a smile faintly visible in his beard. “Who is that woman?” he said. “She is not one of your neighbours here?”
“What made you go with her, Robbie?”
“Oh, she seemed to expect it, and it was only civil. Where has she come from? and how did you pick such a person up?”
“She is a person that will soon be—a neighbour, as you say, and a person of importance here. She is going to be married upon the minister, Robbie.”
“The minister!” he gave a low whistle—“that will be a curious couple; but I hope it’s a new minister, and not poor old Logan, whom I—whom I remember so well. I’ve seen women like that, but not among ministers. I almost think I’ve—seen her somewhere. Old Logan! But he has a wife,” Robert said.
“He had one; but she’s been dead these ten years, and this lady is new come to the parish, and he has what you call fallen in love with her. There are no fules like old fules, Robbie. I like little to hear of falling in love at that age.”