'Say, now,' the American continued quietly—in fact, he seemed to be considering his finger-nails more than anything else, as he walked up and down the room—'say, now, what do you think the Doctor's income amounts to in the year? Not much? Two hundred pounds with all expenses paid?'
'I really don't know,' Ronald said—not understanding the drift of this question.
'Not three hundred, anyway?'
'I'm sure I don't know.'
'Ah. Well, now, I've got to talk to that old lady to-morrow about the prospects of her son-in-law—though she don't know she has got one,' Mr. Hodson was saying—half to himself, as it were. 'I suppose she'll jump on me when I begin. But there's one thing. If I can't convince her with four hundred a year, I'll try her with five—and Carry shall kiss me the difference.'
CHAPTER XVI.
THE FACTOR OF BALNAVRAIN.
Well, now, some couple of months or so thereafter, this same Miss Carry was one of a party of four—all Americans—who set out from Lairg station to drive to Inver-Mudal; and very comfortable and content with each other they seemed to be when they were ensconced in the big waggonette. For a convalescent, indeed, Miss Hodson appeared to be in excellent spirits; but there may have been reasons for that; for she had recently become engaged; and her betrothed, to mark that joyful circumstance, had left for Europe with her; and it was his first trip to English shores; and more especially it was his first trip to the Highlands of Scotland; and very proud was she of her self-imposed office of chaperon and expounder and guide. Truth to tell, the long and lank editor found that in many respects he had fallen upon troublous times; for not only was he expected to be profoundly interested in historical matters about which he did not care a red cent, and to accept any and every inconvenience and discomfort as if it were a special blessing from on high, and to be ready at all moments to admire mountains and glens and lakes when he would much rather have been talking of something more personal to Miss Carry and himself, but also—and this was the cruellest wrong of all—he had to listen to continued praises of Ronald Strang that now and again sounded suspiciously like taunts. And on such occasions he was puzzled by the very audacity of her eyes. She regarded him boldly—as if to challenge him to say that she did not mean every word she uttered; and he dared not quarrel with her, or dispute; though sometimes he had his own opinion as to whether those pretty soft dark eyes were quite so innocent and simple and straightforward as they pretended to be.
'Ah,' said she, as they were now driving away from the village into the wide, wild moorland, 'ah, when you see Ronald, you will see a man.'
She had her eyes fixed on him.