“I was not looking for you.”
“Not looking for me?” cried the girl. “Then who—?” She paused in a sudden confusion, and with a little haughty lift of her head said, “Where is Allan, my brother?”
But the doctor ignored her question. He was gazing at her in stupid amazement.
“I was looking for a little girl,” he said, “in a blue serge dress and tangled hair, brown, and all curls, with brown eyes and—”
“And you found a grown up woman with all the silly curls in their proper place—much older—very much older. It is a habit we have in Scotland of growing older.”
“Older?”
“Yes, older, and more sober and sensible—and plainer.”
“Plainer?” The doctor's mind was evidently not working with its usual ease and swiftness, partly from amazement at the transformation that had resulted in this tall slender young lady standing before him with her stately air, and partly from rage at himself and his unutterable stupidity.
“But you have not answered me,” said the girl, obviously taken aback at the doctor's manner. “Where is my brother? He was to meet me. This is Cal—gar—ry, is it not?”
“It's Calgary all right,” cried the doctor, glad to find in this fact a solid resting place for his mind.