Thus John heard nothing but the same sentiment over and over again repeated. His friends were not popular, and he himself stood in some danger of being reckoned as of their faction. There was no one so bold as to undertake the defence of Torrance; and yet there was a certain toleration accorded to him, as if his case had extenuating circumstances. John did not distinguish himself that afternoon as his friends expected him to do. His play was feeble, and did no credit to his training in “the South”; and as he continued to be interrogated by every newcomer about his own antecedents and his former acquaintance with the Lindores, it was difficult for him to repress all signs of impatience. There was not very much variety in the talk of the county, to judge by these specimens. They all asked how he liked the North, what he thought of the society, and something or other about the absent family. The monotony was broken when he was taken into the drawing-room to be surveyed by the old ladies. Old Mrs. Methven, in her old yellow lace and shabby feathers, who looked to him like a superannuated cockatoo, pronounced once more that he was the image of Walter Erskine, who was killed in the French war, and who was the first man she ever saw in his own hair, without even a ribbon. “It looked very naked like,” the old lady repeated; “no just decent, but you soon got used to it.” When these greetings and introductions were over, Miss Barbara took his arm, and declared her intention of taking a turn on the green and inspecting the new game. But it was not the game which interested the old lady. She had a word of warning to say.
“John, my man! at your age you think little of good advice—above all, from an old woman; but just one word. You must not bind yourself hand and foot to the Lindores. You have your own place to uphold, and the credit of your family. We’ve all formed our opinion of them; and if you’re to be considered as one of them, a kind of retainer of theirs—”
“Retainer!” cried John, deeply piqued. Then he made an effort to recover his temper. “You must see how unreasonable this is,” he said, with a forced smile. “They are the only people I know. I have the greatest respect for them all, but I have done nothing to—identify myself with the family.”
He spoke with some heat, and reddened, much to his annoyance. What way but one was there of identifying himself with them? and what hope was there that he would ever be permitted to do that? The mere suggestion in his own bosom made him red, and then pale.
“You take up their opinions—you support their plans; you’re a partisan, or so they tell me. All that is bad for you, John, my man! You’ll excuse me speaking; but who should take an interest in you if it’s not me?”
“All this is absurd,” he cried. “Take up their opinions! I think the Earl is right about a county hospital. I will support him in that with all my heart. Your favourite minister, Aunt Barbara—”
“I have no favourite minister,” said Miss Barbara, somewhat sharply. “I never let myself be influenced by one of them. You mean the Doctor, I suppose?—he’s far too advanced for me. Ay, that’s just the man I’m meaning. He tells me you’re taking up all the Lindores’s plans—a great satisfaction to him, for he’s a partisan too. Mind, I say nothing against the hospital. What other places have, we ought to have too. We have the same needs as our neighbours. If Perth has one, I would have one—that’s my principle. But I would not take it up because it’s a plan of Lord Lindores’s. And I hear you and that muckle lout Pat Torrance were nearly coming to blows—”
“Is that the minister too?” John cried, angrily.
“No, it’s not the minister; the minister had nothing to say to it. Don’t you take up a prejudice against the minister. That’s just as silly as the other way. It was another person. Pat Torrance is just a brute; but you’ll make little by taking up the defence of the weaker side there. A woman should hold her tongue, whatever happens. You must not set up, at your age, as the champion of ill-used wives.”
“So far from that,” said John, with fierce scorn, “the tipsy brute swore eternal friendship. It was all I could do to shake him off.”
But Miss Barbara still shook her head. “Let them redd their quarrels their own way,” she said. “Stand you on your own feet, John. You should lay hands suddenly on no man, the Apostle says. Mr. Monypenny, is that you? I am reading our young man a lecture. I am telling him the old vulgar proverb, that every herring should hang by its ain head.”
“And there’s no’ a truer proverb out of the Scriptures, Miss Barbara,” said Mr. Monypenny, a man of middle age, and grizzled, reddish aspect. It irritated John beyond description to perceive that the newcomer understood perfectly what was meant. It had evidently been a subject of discussion among all, from Sir James to the agent, who stood before him now, swaying from one leg to another, and meditating his own contribution to the arguments already set forth.
“Miss Erskine is very right, as she always is. Whatever her advice may be, it will carry the sympathy of all your well-wishers, Mr. John, and they are just the whole county, man and woman. I cannot say more than that, and less would be an untruth.”
“I am much obliged to my well-wishers, I am sure. I could dispense with so much solicitude on their part,” cried John, with subdued fury. Old aunts and old friends may have privileges; but to be schooled by your man of business—that was more than flesh and blood
