"Mother, mother," he cried, "don't say any more. She has promised to be my wife."
Lady Macleod stared at him as if to see whether he had really gone mad, and rose and pushed back her chair.
"Keith," she said, slowly and with a cold dignity, "when you choose a wife, I hope I will be the first to welcome her, and I shall be proud to see you with a wife worthy of the name that you bear; but in the meantime I do not think that such a subject should be made the occasion of a foolish jest."
And with that she left the apartment, and Keith Macleod turned in a bewildered sort of fashion to his cousin. Janet Macleod had risen too; she was regarding him with anxious and troubled and tender eyes.
"Janet," said he, "it is no jest at all!"
"I know that," said she, in a low voice, and her face was somewhat pale. "I have known that. I knew it before you went away to England this last time."
And suddenly she went over to him and bravely held out her hand; and there were quick tears in the beautiful gray eyes.
"Keith," said she, "there is no one will be more proud to see you happy than I; and I will do what I can for you now, if you will let me, for I see your whole heart is set on it; and how can I doubt that you have chosen a good wife?"
"Oh Janet, if you could only see her and know her!"
She turned aside for a moment—only for a moment. When he next saw her face she was quite gay.