“It’s scarcely that,” said Mr Dyce, laughing. “It’s the only chance we get to air auld Mr Trayner, and it’s thought to be imposin’. Ad perpetuam remanentiam just means to remain for ever.”
“I thocht that maybe John might hae the poo’er to treat Kaims as my tocher.”
“Even if he had,” said Mr Dyce, “a dot, or dos, or tocher, in the honest law of Scotland, was never the price o’ the husband’s hand; he could only use the fruits o’t. He is not entitled to dispose of it, and must restore it intact if unhappily the marriage should at any time be dissolved.”
“Dissolved!” cried the lady. “Fegs! ye’re in an awfu’ hurry, and the ring no’ bought yet. Supposin’ I was deein’ first?”
“In that case I presume that you would have the succession settled on your husband.”
“On Johnny Cleghorn! Catch me! There’s sic a thing as—as—as bairns, Mr Dyce,” and the lady simpered coyly, while the lawyer rose hurriedly to fumble with some books and hide his confusion at such a wild conjecture. He was relieved by the entrance of Bell and Ailie, who stood amazed at the sight of the odd and unexpected visitor.
“My sisters,” said the lawyer hastily. “Miss—Miss—I did not catch the name.”
“Miss Macintosh,” said the stranger nervously, and Bell cried out immediately, “I was perfectly assured of it! Lennox has often spoken of you, and I’m so glad to see you. I did not know you were in the neighbourhood.”
Ailie was delighted with so picturesque a figure. She could scarcely keep her eyes off the many-flounced, expansive gown of poplin, the stomacher, the ponderous ear-rings, the great cameo brooch, the long lace mittens, the Paisley shawl, the neat poke-bonnet, and the fresh old face marred only by the spectacles, and the gap where the teeth were missing.
“I have just been consultin’ Mr Dyce on my comin’ mairrage,” said The Macintosh; and at this intelligence from a piece of such antiquity Miss Bell’s face betrayed so much astonishment that Dan and Ailie almost forgot their good manners.