“Naething more likely,” said the housekeeper. “She canna be fashed with strangers when her ain are at her hand.”
“Woman!” cried Agnes, from the landing, “how dare you say sae of my mistress? You’ll never mind, Miss Nora. Come up here, my bonnie young leddy, and you’ll have a grand sight of him among the trees.”
“Ay, glower at him,” said Janet, as she went away. “You wouldna be so muckle ta’en up with them if ye kent as much about men as me.”
“Na, you’ll pay no attention,” said Agnes anxiously; “it’s no’ real malice—just she thinks she has mair experience. And so she has mair experience—the only marriet woman in the house. There’s your mamma, with a bonnie family, takes nothing upon her, no more than if she was a single person; but Janet has it a’ her ain way. Stand you here, Miss Nora, at this corner, and you’ll have a grand sight of him. He’s behind the big bourtree-bush; but in a moment—in a moment—”
“I don’t want to see Mr. Erskine,” said Nora, laughing. “I have seen him; most likely I shall see him at lunch. He is just like other people—like dozens of gentlemen—”
“Eh, but when you think that you never ken what may happen—that yon may be the man, for all we ken!”
When Agnes thus put into words the idea which had (she would not deny it to herself) glanced through Nora’s own mind, she was so hypocritical as to laugh, as at a great piece of absurdity—but at the same time so honest as to blush.
“I believe you are always thinking of—that sort of thing,” she said.
“Awfu’ often, Miss Nora,” said Agnes, unabashed—“especially when there’s young folk about; and after a’, is there onything that’s sae important? There’s me and the mistress, we’ve stood aloof from a’ that; but I canna think it’s been for oor happiness. Her—it was her ain doing; but me—it’s a very strange thing to say: I’ve kent many that were far from my superiors—as far as a person can judge—that have had twa-three offers; but me, I never had it in my power. You’ll think it a very strange thing, Miss Nora?”
“I know,” said Nora; “and you so pretty. It is quite extraordinary.” This was the reply that Agnes expected to her favourite confession. She was pretty still at fifty—slim and straight, with delicate features, and that ivory complexion which we associate with refinement and good blood; and the old waiting-woman knew how to faire valoir her fine person and features. She was dressed delicately in a black gown, with a white kerchief of spotless net—like a lady, everybody said. She shook her head with a smile of melancholy consciousness.
“It’s no’ looks that does it,” she said; “it’s—Well, I canna tell. It’s when you ken how to humour them and flatter them. But bless me, there’s Janet, a woman that never flattered man nor woman either! I canna understand it—it’s beyond me. But you mustna follow the mistress, Miss Nora. She’s a happy woman enough, and a bonnie woman for her age, coming up there under her ain trees—just look at her. But if that young lad had been her son, instead of just a distant cousin—”
“Oh, but boys give a great deal of trouble,” said Nora, seriously. “Dear Miss Barbara, I like her best as she is.”
“But you manna follow her example, my bonnie leddy—you manna follow her example. Take a pattern by your ain mammaw. I ca’ her a happy woman, young yet, and a good man, and a bonnie posie of bairns. Eh! I ca’ her a happy woman. And takes nothing upon her!” said Agnes—“nothing upon her. You’ll come up the stair, Miss Nora, and look at yoursel’ in the glass. Oh no, there’s nothing wrang with your bonnie hair. I like it just so—a wee blown about in the mornin’ air. Untidy! bless me, no’ the least untidy! but just—give a look in the glass, and if you think another colour would be more becoming, I have plenty ribbons. Some folk thinks yellow’s very artistic; but the mistress canna bide yellow. She’s owre fair for it, and so are you.”
“Why should I change my ribbon? It is quite tidy,” said Nora, almost with indignation, standing before Miss Barbara’s long cheval-glass. Agnes came and stood behind her, arranging her little collar and the draperies of her dress with caressing hands. And to tell the truth, Nora herself could not shut out from her mind an agreeable consciousness that she was looking “rather nice;—for me,” she added, in her own mind. The morning breeze had ruffled an incipient curl out of the hair which she had brushed, demure and smooth, over her forehead in the morning. It was a thing that nobody suspected when she was fresh from her toilet, but the wind always found out that small eccentricity, and Nora was not angry with the wind. Her ribbon was blue, and suited her far better than the most artistic yellow. All was fresh and fair about her, like the spring morning. “Na; I wouldna change a thing,” Agnes said, looking at her anxiously in the glass, where they made the prettiest picture, the handsome old maid looking like a lady-in-waiting, her fine head appearing over the girl’s shoulder—a lady-in-waiting anxiously surveying her princess, about to meet for the first time with King Charming, who has come to marry her. This was the real meaning of the group.
Nora did not change her ribbon or her own appearance in any way, but she gave a glance to the table set out for luncheon, and renewed the flowers on it, watching all the while the other group which passed and repassed the large round window of the dining-room, their voices audible as they talked. Miss Barbara had taken John’s arm, which
