"Ay," said Mrs. Veitch. "Weel, ye see, she's no' used wi' customers that are easy to please. Are ye for aff?"
"Yes, I must go. Oh! may I see the room? It was being papered the last time I was here. Was the paper a success?"
Instead of replying, Mrs. Veitch marched across the passage and threw open the door with an air.
Elizabeth had a way of throwing her whole heart into the subject that interested her for the moment, and it surprised and pleased people to find this large and beautiful person taking such a passionate (if passing) interest in them and their concerns.
Now it was obvious she was thinking of nothing in the world but this little best parlour with its newly papered walls.
After approving the new wall-paper, she proceeded to examine intently the old steel engravings in their deep rose-wood frames. The subjects were varied: "The Murder of Archbishop Sharp" hung above a chest of drawers; "John Knox dispensing the Communion" was skyed above the sideboard; "Burns at the Plough being crowned by the Spirit of Poesy" was partially concealed behind the door; while over the fireplace brooded the face of that great divine, Robert Murray M'Cheyne. These and a fine old bureau filled with china proclaimed their owner as being "better," of having come from people who could bequeath goods and gear to their descendants. Elizabeth admired the bureau and feasted her eyes on the china.
"Just look at these cups—isn't it a brave blue?"
"Ay," said Mrs. Veitch rather uncertainly; "they were ma granny's. I wud raither hev hed rose-buds masel'—an' that wide shape cools the tea awfu' quick." She nodded mysteriously toward the door at the side of the fire which hid the concealed bed. "We've got a lodger," she said.
"What!" cried Elizabeth, startled. "Is she in there now?"
"Now!" said Mrs. Veitch in fine scorn. "What for wud she be in the now? She's at her wark. She's in a shop in Argyle Street."