“She was always most peculiar,” said Miss Jean. “Bizarre,” cooed Miss Amelia—it was her latest adjective.
“I was sure there was something special about in her since the very first day I saw her,” said the mantua-maker. “Yon eye, Miss Duff! And what a sweet and confident expression! I am so glad she has pleased them up in London; you never can depend on them. I am thinking of a novel blouse to mark in what I think will be a pleasing way the great occasion—the Winifred Wallace Waist I'm calling it. You remember the clever Mr. Molyneux.”
“I doubt we never understood her,” said Miss Jean. “But we make a feature now of elocution.”
“Not that we wish to turn out great tragediennes,” said Miss Amelia. “There's happiness in humbler vocations.”
“I dare say there is,” confessed Miss Minto. “I never thought of the stage myself; my gift was always dress-making, and you wouldn't believe the satisfaction that's in seeing a dress of mine on a woman who can do it justice. We have all our own bit art, and that's a wonderful consolation. But I'm very glad at that girl's progress, for the sake of Mr. Dyce—and, of course, his sisters. Miss Ailie is transported, in the seventh heaven, and even her sister seems quite pleased. 'You'll have a high head to-day,' I said to her when she was passing from the coach this afternoon.”
“And what did she say to that?” inquired Miss Jean, with curiosity.
“You know Miss Dyce! She gave a smile and said, 'But a humble heart; it's the Dyces' motto.'”
The doctor put his paper down, having read the great news over several times with a singular satisfaction that surprised his sisters, who were beat to see much glory in a state of life that meant your name on every wall and the picture of your drawing-room every other week in 'Homely Notes.' Drawing on his boots, he took a turn the length of the lawyer's house.
“Faith! London has the luck of it,” he said, on entering. “I wish I was there myself to see this wonderful Desdemona. I hope you liked your jaunt, Miss Bell?”
“It wasn't bad,” said Bell, putting out the cards. “But, mercy on me, what a silly way they have of baking bread in England!—-all crust outside, though I grant it's sweet enough when you break into it.” “H'm!” said Dr. Brash, “I've seen Scotch folk a bit like that. She has rung the bell, I see; her name is made.”