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And then they began to talk of things indifferent, but with a new and happy consciousness of an excellent understanding between them. The following day, as Colonel Colquhoun went out in the afternoon, he met Evadne coming in with Mrs. Malcomson and Mrs. Sillenger. Evadne was leaning on Mrs. Malcomson's arm. She looked haggard and pale, and the other two ladies were evidently also much distressed.
She had forgotten in her interest that she was a stranger to these people; and only remembered it when they all looked at her rather blankly, as she imagined. "I beg your pardon," she said, addressing Mrs. Malcomson. "I could not help overhearing the discussion, and I am deeply interested. I am Mrs. Colquhoun," she broke off, covered with confusion.
Guthrie Brimston; "Our dance, I think," he said, offering her his arm. She took it, perking and preening herself, and began to say something about Mrs. Malcomson in agreement with his last remark: "You are quite right about her," Mr. St. John overheard. "She is always jeering at men. She abuses you wholesale. I've heard her often."
"Why, in troth, I can't complain, Mr. Malcomson; here's your health, sir, and after that we must drink another." "Mony thanks, Andrew." "Hang it, I'm not Andrew: that sounds like Scotch; I'm Andy, man alive." "Wfiel mony thanks, Andy; but for the maitter o' that, what the de'il waur wad it be gin it were Scotch?" "Bekaise I wouldn't like to be considered a Scotchman, somehow."
Beale were sitting. Both welcomed her cordially, and Evadne, in particular, brightened visibly when she saw her approach. She was wearied by these vapid men, who had all said the same thing, and looked at her with the same expression one after the other the whole afternoon. Mrs. Sillenger and Mr. Price were also of the party, and Mrs. Malcomson, in a merry mood, was holding forth brightly when Mr.
"Now, Malcomson," said he, "as you have found an assistant, I hope you will soon bring my garden into decent trim. What kind of a chap is he, and how did you come by him?" "Saul, your honor," replied Malcomson, "he's a divilish clever chiel, and vara weel acquent wi' our noble profession." "Confound yourself and your noble profession!
"Why, confound it, Malcomson, that fellow's more like a beggarman than a gardener." "Saul, but he's a capital hand for a' that. Your honor's no' to tak the beuk by the cover. To be sure he's awfully vulgar, but, ma faith, he has a richt gude knowledgeable apprehension o' buttany and gerdening in generhal." The squire then approached our under-gardener, and accosted him,
Malcomson calls it, and learn to think of us women, not as angels or beasts of burden the two extremes between which you wander but as human beings " "Oh!" he protested, interrupting her, "I hope I have not made you imagine that I do not recognize certain grave injustices to which women are at present subject. Those I as earnestly hope to see remedied as you do.
As to that penance, it's just some Papistrical nonsense, he has gotten into his head de'il hae't mair: but sure they're a' full o't a' o' the same graft, an' a bad one I fear it is." "Well, I believe so, Malcomson, I believe so. However, if the unfortunate fool is clever, give him good wages."
"It does not claim to be fact exactly, and yet it is not fiction." "Not a novel, but a novelty," Major Guthrie Brimston put in, clasping his hands on his breast, twiddling his thumbs, and setting his head on one side, the "business" with which he usually accompanied one of his facetious sallies. "What I admire most about Mrs. Malcomson is her courage," said Mr. Price.
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