“Try another scone, Dan,” she would urge, to hide the confusion that his praise created. “I’m sure you’re hungry.”
“No, not hungry,” would he reply, “but, thank Providence, I’m greedy—pass the plate.”
Bell was busy at her cookery lesson, making her cuttings fill the part of the book that was still to buy, doing all she could to make Bud see how noble was a proper crimpy paste, though her lesson was cunningly designed to look like one for Kate alone. Her sleeves were rolled up, and the flour was flying, when a rat-tat came to the door. They looked up from their entrancing occupation, and there, in front, was the castle carriage!
Miss Bell made moan. “Mercy on us! That’ll be Lady Anne, and Ailie out, and I cannot go to speak to anybody, for I’m such a ticket. Run to the door, dear, and take her into the parlour, and keep her there till I am ready. Don’t forget to say ‘My Lady,’—No, don’t say ‘My Lady,’ for the Dyces are of old, and as good as their neighbours, but say ‘Your Ladyship’; not too often, but only now and then, to let her see you know it.”
Bud went to the door and let in Lady Anne, leading her composedly to the parlour.
“Aunt Ailie’s out,” she said, “and Aunt Bell is such a ticket. But she’s coming in a minute, your—your—your—” Bud paused for a second, a little put about. “I forget which it was I was to say. It was either ‘Your Ladyship’ or ‘My Lady.’ You’re not my lady, really, and you’re not your own, hardly, seeing you’re promised to Colonel George. Please tell me which is right, Lady Anne.”
“Who told you it was Colonel George, my dear?” asked Lady Anne, sitting down on the proffered chair and putting her arms around the child.
“Oh, it’s just the clash of the parish,” said my little Scot who once was Yankee. “And everybody’s so glad.”
“Are they, indeed?” said Lady Anne, blushing in her pleasure. “That is exceedingly kind of them. I always thought our own people the nicest and kindest in the world.”
“That’s just it!” said Bud cheerfully. “Everybody everywhere is just what one is oneself,—so Aunt Ailie says; and I s’pose it’s because you’re— Oh! I was going to say something about you, but I’ll let you guess. What lovely weather! I hope your papa is well? And Mr Jones?”