A gentle pity smiled from the rugged face of the man beside him.
“Hardly,” he said. “It's no done that way.”
They came to McNish's door.
“Will you come in?” he said courteously. A refusal was at Maitland's lips when the door was opened by an old lady in a white frilled cap and without being able to explain how it came about he found himself in the quaintly furnished but delightfully cosy living-room, soaking in the comfort of a great blazing fire.
“This is really solid comfort,” he said, spreading his hands to the glowing pine slabs.
“Ay, ye need it the day. The fire cheers the heart,” said the old lady.
“But you don't need it for that, Mrs. McNish,” said her visitor, smiling at the strong, serene face under the white frilled cap.
“Do I not then? An' what aboot yersel'?” The keen grey eye searched his face. Maitland was immediately conscious of a vast dreariness in his life. He sat silent looking into the blazing fire.
“Ay,” continued the old lady, “but there are the bright spots tae, an' it's ill tae glower at a cauld hearth stone.” Maitland glanced quickly at the shrewd and kindly face. What did she know about him and his life and his “cauld hearth stone”? So he said nothing but waited. Suddenly she swerved to another theme.
“Malcolm,” she said, “have ye secured the tickets for the match?”