“I can sing, my boy, like a mavis, like a bird-of-paradise. Would you like to taste my quality?” and without more ado I sang to him.
“The span o' Life's nae lang eneugh, Nor deep eneugh the sea, Nor braid eneugh this weary warld To part my Love frae me.”
“I like that,” he said, gravely, when I had made an end. “You sing well.”
“So I have been informed, sir; and I am most sensible of your confirmation of the favourable verdict, which is flattering beyond my poor deserts.”
But he did not find this at all to his taste, and I was sorry to see my untimely nonsense caused him to shrink somewhat from me, which hurt me to a degree I could not have believed possible.
But my embarrassment was relieved by his mother's voice calling us from the foot of the stairs, and hand in hand we went down together.
I looked at my hostess with much curiosity, and found her quiet and serene, though the traces of the anxiety of overnight were visible in her pale face and tired eyes.
“Good-morning, Mistress Routh.”
“Good-morning, Captain Geraldine. I see my boy has taken to you; it is a good sign.”
The words were like balm to me, and I looked at her searchingly to see expected signs of relenting, but I recognised only too clearly it was the kindly civility of an entire stranger, and I felt more strongly than at any moment before that the door of the past was irrevocably closed between us.