feeling bitterly that she must give up her life-long hospitality--she could not afford to be hospitable any longer. She did not tell Maria this; she said rather, "the laddie wearied her mair than once a week. She wasna strong, and she didna approve o' his excuses for General Clinton. I could tear them all to ravlins," she said, angrily, "but I wad tear mysel' to pieces doing it. He has the reiving, reiving Highland spirit, and nae wonder! The Macphersons have carried fire and sword for centuries."

As for Harry Deane, he, of course, could not come at all, though Madame might have borne him more than once a week, if she had been trusted. But Harry was as uncertain as the wind. He came when no one looked for him, and when he was expected, he was miles away. So there was no possible neutral ground for Love but such as Agnes in her good-nature and wisdom would allow. But Agnes was not difficult. Neil Semple had taught her the sweetness and clemency of love, and she would not deprive Maria of those pleasant hours, with which so many days were brightened that would otherwise have been dull and monotonous. For, during the summer's heat the royalist families, who could afford to do so, left the city, and the little tea parties at Agnes Bradley's were nearly the only entertainment at Maria's command.

These were informal and often delightful. Lord Medway knew that about five o'clock Agnes would be setting the tea-tray, and he liked to sit beside Maria and watch her do it. And sometimes Maria made the tea, and poured his out, and put in the sugar and cream with such enchanting smiles and ways that he vowed never tea in this world tasted so refreshing and delicious. And not infrequently Quentin Macpherson would come clattering in when the meal had begun, take a chair at the round table, and drinking his tea a little awkwardly, soothe his self-esteem by an aggressive self-importance. For Lord Medway's nonchalant manner provoked him to such personal assertion as always mortified when the occasion was over. About half-past seven was Neil's hour, and then the conversation became general, and love found all sorts of tender occasions; every glance of meeting eyes, and every clasp of meeting hands, bearing the one sweet message, "I love you, dear!"

It was usually in the morning that Harry came springing up the garden path. There was neither work nor lessons that day, nor any pretense of them. Harry had too much to tell, and both Agnes and Maria hung upon his words as if they held the secret of life and happiness. Now, granted two beautiful girls with a moderate amount of freedom, and four lovers in that pleasantly painful condition 

 Prev. P 69/224 next