“It is dinner-time,” she announced, “and your father has just come in, Maimie, and we must have dinner over at once.”
Maimie rose, and going to the glass, smoothed back her hair. Her Aunt Frances glanced at her face and then at Mrs. Murray, and as if fearing Maimie's reply, went on hurriedly, “You must look your very best to-night, and even better to-morrow,” she said, smiling, significantly. She came and put her hands on Maimie's shoulders, and kissing her, said: “Have you told your Aunt Murray who is coming to-morrow? I am sure I'm very thankful, my dear, you will be very happy. It is an excellent match. Half the girls in town will be wild with envy. He has written a very manly letter to your father, and I am sure he is a noble fellow, and he has excellent prospects. But we must hurry down to dinner,” she said, turning to Mrs. Murray, who with a look of sadness on her pale face, left the room without a word.
“Ranald is not coming,” said Maimie, when her Aunt Murray had gone.
“Indeed, from what your father says,” cried Aunt Frank, indignantly, “I do not very well see how he could. He has been most impertinent.”
“You are not to say that, Aunt Frank,” cried Maimie. “Ranald could not be impertinent, and I will not hear it.” Her tone was so haughty and fierce that Aunt Frank thought it wiser to pursue this subject no further.
“Well,” she said, as she turned to leave the room, “I'm very glad he has the grace to keep away tonight. He has always struck me as a young man of some presumption.”
When the door closed upon her Maimie tore the note from her bosom and pressed it again and again to her lips: “Oh, Ranald, Ranald,” she cried, “I love you! I love you! Oh, why can it not be? Oh, I cannot—I cannot give him up!” She threw herself upon her knees and laid her face in the bed. In a few minutes there came a tap at the door, and her Aunt Frances's voice was heard, “Maimie, your father has gone down; we must not delay.” The tone was incisive and matter-of-fact. It said to Maimie, “Now let's have no nonsense. Be a sensible woman of the world.” Maimie rose from her knees. Hastily removing all traces of tears from her face, and glancing in the glass, she touched the little ringlets into place and went down to dinner.
It was a depressing meal. Mr. St. Clair was irritable; Harry perplexed and sullen; Maimie nervously talkative. Mrs. Murray was heroically holding herself in command, but the look of pain in her eyes and the pathetic tremor on her lips belied the brave smiles and cheerful words with which she seconded Aunt Frank.
After dinner the company separated, for there were still preparations to make for the evening. As Mrs. Murray was going to her room, she met Harry in the hall with his hat on.
“Where are you going, Harry?”