‘P.S.—She has the loveliest feet.’
All the arguments and persuasions which Crauford could bring to bear on his bride did not avail to shorten the time before the marriage by a fortnight, for the dressmakers at work upon her very modest trousseau declared themselves unable to finish it by that date, and Cecilia was thankful for their objections. He had dressed up some bogey of family convenience which he held up before her, but, by aid of its ministrations, he was only able to knock off three days from the interval and fix the occasion for the seventh instead of the tenth of April. He wrote to Barclay, apprising him of the change.
When the time arrived by which some result of Somerville’s letter might reasonably be expected, the lawyer was constant in his inquiries at the mail office. As no sign came, he determined to drive out to Whanland and question Macquean, for he thought that if Gilbert contemplated a sudden return, the man in charge of the house would scarcely be ignorant of it.
It was on the second day preceding Speid’s intended arrival that he set out for this purpose, and, at the outskirts of the town, observed the person he wished to see approaching with the vacillating but self-satisfied gait peculiar to him. Rather to his surprise, Macquean made a sign to the coachman to stop.
‘Have ye heard the news?’ he asked abruptly, his large mouth widening.
‘What news?’ cried the lawyer, leaning far out of his chaise.
‘The Laird’s to be hame, no the morn’s morn, but the morn ahint it.’
‘Has he written?’
‘Granny got a letter a day syne. She bad’ me no tell, but a’ didna mind the auld witch. A’ kent fine the Laird wad need to tell ye.’
‘Quite right!’ exclaimed Barclay, with fervour. ‘That old she-devil is beyond endurance.’