“No,” said Mr. Dyce, “I know it well enough, but—but I don't believe it,” and he smiled at his own paradox.
“I have her own words for it.”
“Then she'll go!” said the lawyer, firmly, as if a load was off his mind, and, oddly, there were no objections from his sisters. “You're not to imagine, Mr. Molyneux,” he went on, “that we have not thought of this before. It has for months been never out of our minds, as might be seen from the fact that we never mentioned it, being loath to take a step that's going to make considerable difference here. It's not that we feared we should die of ennui in her absence, for we're all philosophers and have plenty to engage our minds as well as our activities, and though you might think us rather rusty here, we get a good deal of fun with ourselves. She'll go—oh yes, of course she'll go—Ailie went—and she's no muckle the waur o't, as we say. I spent some time in the south myself, and the only harm it seems to have done me was to make me think too much, perhaps, of my native north. Taste's everything, Mr. Molyneux, and you may retort if you please that I'm like the other Scotsman who preferred his apples small and hard and sour. I think there's no divine instruction, is there, Bell, about apples? and judgments regarding different countries and different places in them is mostly a subjective thing, like the estimate of beauty apart from its utility—”
“Oh! there you are at your metapheesics, Daa,” cried Miss Bell, “and it's for me and Ailie to make ready the bairn for Edinburgh. She hasna got a stitch that's fit to be put on.”
Molyneux stared at her; the tone displayed so little opposition to the project; and seeing him so much surprised the three of them smiled.
“That's us!” said Mr. Dyce. “We're dour and difficult to decide on anything involving change, and hide from ourselves as long as we can the need for it, but once our mind's made up it's wonderful how we hurry.”
CHAPTER XXV
BELL liked the creature, as I say, not a little because she saw in him whence came some part of Bud's jocosity and most of the daftlike language (though kind of clever, too, she must allow) in which it was expressed. It was a different kind of jocosity from Dan's, whose fun, she used to say, partook of the nature of rowan jelly, being tart and sweet in such a cunning combination that it tickled every palate and held some natural virtue of the mountain tree. The fun of Molyneux had another flavor; it put her in mind of allspice, being foreign, having heat as well as savor. But in each of these droll men was the main thing, as she would aye consider it—no distrust of the Creator's judgment, good intentions, and ability, and a readiness to be laughed at as well as find laughter's cause in others. She liked the man, but still-and-on was almost glad when the telegram came from Edinburgh and he went back to join his company. It was not any lack of hospitality made her feel relief, but the thought that now Bud's going was determined on, there was so much to do in a house where men would only be a bother.