Brookes called her, and sat
down in the chair she gave up to her.
"I've something to see efter i' the still-room," said the
housekeeper. "You sit here and hae yer crack. Sit doon, Mr. Grant.
I'm glad to see you an' my lady come to word o' mooth at last. I
began to think it wud never be!"
Had Donal been in the way of looking to faces for the interpretation
of words and thoughts, he would have seen a shadow sweep over lady
Arctura's, followed by a flush, which he would have attributed to
displeasure at this utterance of the housekeeper. But, with all his
experience of the world within, and all his unusually developed
power of entering into the feelings of others, he had never come to
pry into those feelings, or to study their phenomena for the sake of
possessing himself of them. Man was by no means an open book to
him--"no, nor woman neither," but he would have scorned to
supplement by such investigation what a lady chose to tell him. He
sat looking into the fire, with an occasional upward glance, waiting
for what was to come, and saw neither shadow nor flush. Lady Arctura
sat also gazing into the fire, and seemed in no haste to begin.
"You are so good to Davie!" she said at length, and stopped.
"No better than I have to be," returned Donal. "Not to be good to
Davie would be to be a wretch."
"You know, Mr. Grant, I cannot agree with you!"
"There is no immediate necessity, my lady.
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