“Whatever it is,” said the old woman, “I must remind you two people that I am an invalid. Go away and have luncheon. Paterson will look after you. Mr. Ingram, give me that book, that I may read myself into a nap, and don’t forget what I expect of you.”
Ingram suddenly remembered. He and Sheila and Mairi sat down to luncheon in the dining-room, and while he strove to get them to talk about Borva, he was thinking all the time of the extraordinary position he was expected to assume toward Sheila. Not only was he to be the repository of the secret of her place of residence, and the message-carrier between herself and her husband, but he was also to take Mrs. Lavender’s fortune, in the event of her dying, and hold it in trust for the young wife. Surely this old woman, with her suspicious ways and her worldly wisdom, would not be so foolish as to hand him over all her property, free of conditions, on the simple understanding that when he chose he could give what he chose to Sheila? And yet that was what she had vowed she would do, to Ingram’s profound dismay.
He labored hard to lighten the spirits of those two girls. He talked of John the Piper, and said he would invite him up to London, and described his probable appearance in the Park. He told them stories of his adventures while he was camping out with some young artists in the Western Highlands, and told them anecdotes, old, recent and of his own invention, about the people he had met. Had they heard of the steward on board one of the Clyde steamers who had a percentage on the drink consumed in the cabin, and who would call out to the captain: “Why wass you going so fast? Dinna put her into the quay so fast! There is a gran’ company down below, and they are drinking fine!” Had he ever told them of the porter at Arran who had demanded sixpence for carrying up some luggage, but who, after being sent to get a sovereign changed, came back with only eighteen shillings, saying: “Oh, yes, it iss sexpence! Oh, ay, it iss sexpence! But it iss two shullens ta you!” Or of the other, who, after being paid, hung about the cottage-door for nearly an hour, until Ingram, coming out, asked him why he waited; whereupon he said, with an air of perfect indifference: “Oo, ay, there was something said about a dram; but hoot toot! it is of no consequence whatever!” And was it true that the sheriff of Stornoway was so kind-hearted a man that he remitted the punishment of certain culprits, ordained by the statute to be whipped with birch rods, on the ground that the island of Lewis produced no birch, and that he was not bound to import it? And had Mairi heard any more of the Black Horse of Loch Suainabhal? And where had she pulled those splendid bunches of bell-heather?
He suddenly stopped, and Sheila looked up with inquiring eyes. How did he know that Mairi had brought those things with her? Sheila saw that he must have gone up with her husband and must have seen the room which she had decorated in imitation of the small parlor at Borvapost. She would rather not think of that room now.
“When are you going to the Lewis?” she asked of him with her eyes cast down.
“Well, I think I have changed my mind about that, Sheila. I don’t think I shall go to the Lewis this Autumn.”
Her face became more and more embarrassed. How was she to thank him for his continued thoughtfulness and self-sacrifice?
“There is no necessity,” he said lightly. “The man I am going with has no particular purpose in view. We shall merely go cruising about those wonderful lochs and islands, and I am sure to run against some of those young fellows I know, who are prowling about the fishing-villages with portable easels. They are good boys, those boys. They are very hospitable, if they have only a single bedroom in a small cottage as their studio and reception-room combined. I should not wonder, Sheila, if I went ashore somewhere, and put up my lot with those young fellows, and listened to their wicked stories, and lived on whisky and herrings for a month. Would you like to see me return to Whitehall in kilts? And I should go into the office and salute everybody with ‘And are you ferry well?’ just as Mairi does. But don’t be downhearted, Mairi. You speak English a good deal better than many English folks I know; and by the time you go back to the Lewis we shall have you fit to become a school-mistress, not only in Borva, but in Stornoway itself.”
“I was told it is ferry good English they have in Stornoway,” said Mairi, not very sure whether Mr. Ingram was joking or not.
“My dear child,” he cried, “I tell you it is the best English in the world. If the queen only knew, she would send her grandchildren to be educated there. But I must go now. Good-bye, Mairi. I mean to come and take you to a theater some night soon.”