"Well, I will see about it," said Mackenzie with an affectation of cheerful and practical shrewdness. "Oh yes, I will see about it when Sheila has made up her mind. He is a very good young man, whatever—"
"He is the best-hearted fellow I know," said Ingram warmly. "I don't think Sheila has much to fear if she marries him. If you had known him as long as I have, you would know how considerate he is to everybody about him, how generous he is, how good-natured and cheerful, and so forth: in short, he is a thorough good fellow, that's what I have to say about him."
"It iss well for him he will hef such a champion," said Mackenzie with a smile: "there is not many Sheila will pay attention to as she does to you."
They went in-doors again, Ingram scarcely knowing how he had got so easily through the ordeal, but very glad it was over.
Sheila was still at the piano, and on their entering she said, "Papa, here is a song you must learn to sing with me."
"And what iss it, Sheila?" he said, going over to her.
"'Time has not thinned my flowing hair.'"
He put his hand on her head and said, "I hope it will be a long time before he will thin your hair, Sheila."
The girl looked up surprised. Scotch folks are, as a rule, somewhat reticent in their display of affection, and it was not often that her father talked to her in that way. What was there in his face that made her glance instinctively toward Ingram. Somehow or other her hand sought her father's hand, and she rose and went away from the piano, with her head bent down and tears beginning to tell in her eyes.
"Yes, that is a capital song," said Ingram loudly. Sing 'The Arethusa,' Lavender—'Said the saucy Arethusa.'"