“Forgive me, Miss Macnab—for of course you can be no other,” said Lumley, advancing promptly and grasping the hand, “but your—your—sudden, and I may almost say magical, appearance has so taken me by surprise, that—that—”
“Yes, yes, I understand, Mr Lumley—that you find it difficult to recover yourself,—why, your friend Mr Maxby has not yet recovered,” said the fair Jessie, turning and holding out her hand to me.
She was right. I had not recovered, but stood there open-mouthed and eyed, bereft of speech, until the necessity for action was thrust upon me. My apologies were, however, cut short by the coming up of her brother, who, while yet a long way off, began to shout in his stentorian tones:—
“Hallo! Lumley, my boy, how are ye? Here we are at last. A happy New Year, Max. Glad to see you once more—all alive and hearty? Eh? More than I expected to find you, Jess, after such a run with these rascally dogs—absolute wolves! But it might have been worse. Give us a shake o’ your fists, my boys, on this happy New Year’s Day.”
By this time our hearty friend was beside us, shaking us both vigorously by the hands, wishing us all manner of good luck, and compliments of the season, and otherwise letting off the steam of his exuberant feelings.
“You’ve introduced yourselves, I see,” he continued; “come, Lumley, give your arm to Jessie, and show us the way to the fort.”
“If Miss Macnab,” began Lumley, advancing, but his speech was here cut short.
“Miss Macnab!” echoed the explosive Peter in a sarcastic shout, “call her Jessie, man! who ever heard of a ‘Miss Macnab’ in the backwoods? When men take to living in the wilderness, it’s time to cast off all the humbuggin’ politenesses o’ civilised life.”
“Pardon me, Macnab,” returned my friend, with more than his usual urbanity, “I differ from you there.”
“Oh, ay, I daresay ye do,” interrupted the other. “It’s been said of Scotsmen that ‘they can aye objec’,’ and I think it’s equally true of Englishmen that they can always differ!”