Читать книгу The Primrose Path: A Chapter in the Annals of the Kingdom of Fife онлайн

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“Oh, ay, as auld as him or me—in your ain conceit,” said Bell; “but whisht, my bonnie doo— I wasna meaning to vex you. And what am I to speak to Sir Ludovic about?”

A slight embarrassment came over Margaret. She began to fidget from one foot to another, and a sudden wave of color flushed over her face. It did not mean anything. Was it not the trouble of her life that she blushed perpetually—blushed for nothing at all, with every fresh thought that rushed upon her, with every new impulse? It was her way of showing every emotion. Nevertheless this time it made her feel uncomfortable, as if it might mean something more.

“I told you,” she said; “it is about learning to draw, and about letting him come here to show me the way.”

“Letting him come! that’s another story; and who’s him?” said Bell. She made a rapid mental review of the county while she spoke—puzzled, yet not disconcerted; there was nobody of whom the severest duenna could be afraid. There was Sir Claude—known to be very fond of pictures—but Sir Claude was a douce married man, who was very unlikely to take the trouble, and, even if he did, would hurt nobody. “Na, I canna think. Young Randal Burnside he’s away; that was the only lad in the country-side like to be evened to our Miss Margret, and him no half or quarter good enough. Na, ye maun tell me; there’s no him in the country that may not come and go free for anything I care.”