“Mr. Flemington’s concern was so great when he left my house that no arrangement was made,” said he. “I had not the heart to trouble him with my unimportant affairs when so much was at stake.”
Of the two cautious people who were feeling their way in the dark, it was the judge who was the more mystified, for he had laid hold of a definite idea, and it was the wrong one. Christian was merely putting a bold face on a hazardous matter, and hoping to hear something of Logie. She had not sought the introduction. David would have been the butt of her amused scorn had she been free enough from anxiety to be entertained. But she could not imagine on what footing matters really stood, and she was becoming inclined to suspect the beggar’s statement that Flemington had been fighting with James. Her longing to see Archie was great.
She loved him in her own way, though she had driven him from her in her mortification and her furious pride. She had not believed that he would really go there and then; that he, who had served her purposes so gallantly all his life, would take her at her word. What was he doing? Why had he gone to Edinburgh? Her own reason for coming had been the hope of seeing him. She had been four days in the town now, and she dared not make open inquiries for him, not knowing how far his defection had gone. She had accused him of turning to the Stuarts, and he had denied the accusation, not angrily, but with quiet firmness. Two horrible possibilities had occurred to her: one, that he was with the Prince, and might be already known to the Government as a rebel; the other, that he had never reached Edinburgh—that his hurt had been worse than the beggar supposed, and that he might be ill or dying, perhaps dead. But it was only when she lay awake at night that she imagined these things. In saner moments and by daylight she put them from her. She was so well accustomed to being parted from him, and to the knowledge that he was on risky business, that she would not allow herself to be really disturbed. She assured herself that she must wait and watch; and now she was glad to find herself acquainted with Balnillo, who seemed to be the only clue in her hand. Mercifully, he had all the appearance of being an old fool.
“I see that you are too modest to tell me anything of the picture,” she began. “I hope it promised well. You should make a fine portrait, and I believe that Archie could do you justice. He is at his best with high types. Describe it to me.”
David espied a vacant chair, and, drawing it towards him, sat down to the subject with the same gusto that most men bring to their dinners. He cleared his throat.
“I should have wished it to be full length,” said he, “but Mr. Flemington had no suitable canvas with him. I wore my robes, and he was good enough to say that the crimson was appropriate and becoming to me. Personally, I favour quiet colours, as you see, ma’am.”
“I see that you have excellent taste.”
He bowed, delighted.
“I remarked you as you came in,” continued she, “and I asked myself why these gentlemen looked so garish. Observe that one beside the door of the card-room, my lord. I am sure that he chose his finery with some care, yet he reminds me of a clown at a merrymaking.”
“True, true—excellently true!”