The Scotswoman looked at her hard: sternness returning to every feature.
"I doubt ye been misconductin' yersel' after all," she said, levelly and coldly, "I kenned it when ye cm' in through yon door. Tellin' me a pack o' lies'll no improve matters—"
"I'm telling you the truth," Daisy asseverated, warmly, "I didn't think you'd go and insult me, Jean!"
The other eyed her doubtfully. "I'd fair loe tae believe ye, lassie," she breathed, "but the thing's impossible. It sounds like a story out of a book. Why, besides his money an' his social position, he's sixty years old, if he's a day—an' forbye, he's an ingrown bachelor. He'd ha' wedded long or now, if it had been in him to marry. He—he hasna offered to keep ye—that's not what ye mean, is it? But, no—I ken fine he wouldna dae that. He's an honorable man, Sir William Ware."
Daisy regarded Jean a second or two; then went over, sat plumply down on the elder woman's knee, and put an arm about her neck.
"Listen", she said, "and I'll tell you all about it, right from the start-off, when I left here Tuesday evening." And therewith Daisy did so. By the time she had finished, Jean's arms were about her waist, and penitence blended with the amazed, generous, unenvying delight that radiated from the Scotswoman's harsh-lined but kindly-expressioned face.
"Forgie me, bairnie," she said, as she laid her great palm around the girl's cheek; "but I—I—why, I juist canna find the words tae say what I think. I'm fair—fair tongue-tied. Fast married—and to a laird o' lairds! Ey, ye bonnie wee thing, ye, bide till I buss ye," and the great arms, tightening about Daisy's waist, hugged her ecstatically. Then Jean set her free, rose up with vigor, and reached down a bowl, spoon and plate of crackers.
"Come!" she exclaimed, as she turned out the gas-jet under the broth, poured the liquid into the bowl, and went to the cupboard for a dessert-spoon; "if the good leddy's conscious an' no in ane of her bad spells, we'll tell her the news. A bittie o' gossip like yon's better than physic or food to a sick wuman.... By the bye, here's a letter cam' for ye yesterday. Open it an' read it, if ye like, while the broth's coolin'."
The letter was from Mrs. Lovina Nixon, in answer to Daisy's first letter home, written under a daughterly impulse during one of Jean's "nights out", when Daisy was alone in the big Harrison kitchen. In her letter, the girl had asked for forgiveness and had hoped that "You and Pa are getting along all right, and that crops are looking good."