“Lily might do worse,” said John Murchison, judicially.
“I should think Dora might do worse! I don’t know where she’s going to do better! The most promising young man in Elgin, well brought up, well educated, well started in a profession! There’s not a young fellow in this town to compare with Lorne, and perfectly well you know it, John. Might do worse! But that’s you all over. Belittle your own belongings!”
Mr Murchison smiled in amused tolerance. “They’ve always got you to blow their trumpet, Mother,” he replied.
“And more than me. You ought to hear Dr Drummond about Lorne! He says that if the English Government starts that line of boats to Halifax the country will owe it to him, much more than to Cruickshank, or anybody else.”
“Dr Drummond likes to talk,” said John Murchison.
“Lorne’s keeping his end up all right,” remarked Stella, jumping off her bicycle in time to hear what her mother said. “It’s great, that old Wallingham asking him to dinner. And haven’t I just been spreading it!”
“Where have you been, Stella?” asked Mrs Murchison.
“Oh, only over to the Milburns’. Dora asked me to come and show her the new flower-stitch for table centres. Dora’s suddenly taken to fancy work. She’s started a lot—a lot too much!” Stella added gloomily.
“If Dora likes to do fancy work I don’t see why anybody should want to stop her,” remarked Mrs Murchison, with a meaning glance at her husband.
“I suppose she thinks she’s going to get Lorne,” said Stella. Her resentment was only half-serious, but the note was there.