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Rothesay, pondering on Olive's future, felt-glad of this. "Poor child! she is not made for the world, or the world for her. Better that she should lead her own quiet life, where she will suffer no pain, and be wounded by no neglect." Yet, nevertheless, it was with a vague pleasure that Mrs.
"She well she's very odd you know," said Bea, wondering if her quiver of defense would outlast the arrows of complaint. "Yes, odd, as an odd shoe," laughed Kat with a yawn. "What did mama say to you, Bea?" asked Ernestine. "She said that Olive's greatest fault was being so nasty and sensitive, and that because she was rather plain and " "She isn't," interrupted Kittie, with much energy.
And Link watched with some slight perturbation the baby's onslaught. But in a moment Ferris's mind was at rest. At first touch of the baby's fingers the collie had become once and for all Olive's slave. He fairly reveled in the discomfortingly tight caress. The tug of the little hands in his sensitive neck fur was bliss to him.
If Basil considered women superficial, it was a pity he couldn't see what Olive's standard of preparation was, or be present at their rehearsals, in the evening, in their little parlour. Ransom's state of mind in regard to the affair at the Music Hall was simply this that he was determined to circumvent it if he could.
And then, in a few broken words, he told the rest of the tale; told it so that not even his mother could be wounded by the thought of a secret known to Olive and concealed from her of an influence that over her son was more powerful than her own. Afterwards, when Olive's arms were round her neck, and Olive's voice was heard imploring pardon for both, her whole heart melted within her.
He had a feeling of isolation, of utter solitude. Nobody not anybody in the world could understand his secret and intense discomfort. To take up a position the position he was bound to take up, as Olive's nearest relative and protector, and what was it chaperon, by the aid of knowledge come at in such a way, however unintentionally!
Words cannot describe the incredulous joy and perfect peace that touched the wan face at the words, nor the bewildering happiness that lighted the sunken eyes, as the feeble arms tried to clasp themselves about Olive's neck, but fell weakly down. Roger found his eyes blinded by tears as he stepped back to get the wine.
Meliora made vain efforts at comforting, and then, as a last resource, she went and fetched two little kittens and laid them on Olive's lap by way of consolation; for her own delight and solace was in her household menagerie, from which she was ever evolving great future blessings.
"The poor lassie! she's just wearied out!" said Mrs. Flora, laying her hands on Olive's hair. "Jean, get her some tea. Now, my bairn, lift up your face. Ay, there it is a Rothesay's, every line! and with the golden hair too. Ye have heard tell of the weird saying, about the Rothesays with yellow hair? No? We will not talk of it now." And the old lady suddenly looked thoughtful even somewhat grave.
Rothesay started and woke; like most timid women, she had a great dread of thunder, and it took all Olive's powers of soothing to quiet her nervous alarms. These were increased by another sound that broke through the pouring rain a violent ringing of the garden-bell, which, in Mrs. Rothesay's excited state, seemed a warning of all sorts of horrors.
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