"Come, Richard, it is a shame for old folks like us to stand spying them!"

"They care very little for me," said Dr. May, "but I shall have them in. Cold winds blowing about that little head! Ah! here they are. Fine leaves you gather, miss! Very red and brown."

Meta rather liked, than otherwise, those pretty teasings of Dr. May, but they always made Norman colour extremely, and he parried them by announcing news. "No, not the Bucephalus, a marriage in high life, a relation."

"Not poor Mary!" cried Ethel.

"Mary! what could make you think of her?"

"As a hen thinks of her ducklings when they go into waters beyond her ken," said Ethel. "Well, as long as it is not Mary, I don't care!"

"High life!" repeated Meta. "Oh, it can be only Agatha Langdale."

"There's only Lord Cosham further to guess," said Ethel.

"Eh! why not young Ogilvie?" said Dr. May. "I am right, I see. Well, who is the lady?"

"A Miss Dunbar--a nice girl that I met at Glenbracken. Her property fits in with theirs, and I believe his father has been wishing it for a long time."

"It does not sound too romantic," said Meta.

"He writes as if he had the sense of having been extremely dutiful,"

said Norman.

"No doubt thinking it needful in addressing a namesake, who has had an eye to the main chance," said the doctor. "Don't throw stones, young people."

"Well!" exclaimed Meta; "he did not look as if he would go and do such a stupid thing as that!"

"Probably, it is anything but a stupid thing," said Dr. May.

"You are using him very ill among you," said Norman eagerly. "I believe her to be excellent in every way; he has known her from childhood; he writes as if he were perfectly contented, and saw every chance of happiness."

"None the less for having followed his father's wishes--I am glad he did," said Ethel, coming to her brother's side.

"I dare say you are right," was Meta's answer; "but I am disappointed in him. He always promised to come and stay with you, and made such friends at Oxford, and he never came."

"I fancy there was a good deal to hinder him," said Norman; and, as Mrs.

Arnott proceeded to inquiries after the Ogilvies in general, the master of Glenbracken was allowed to drop.

Meta, however, renewed the subject when walking to the minster that evening with Norman.

"You may defend Mr. Ogilvie, Norman, but it is not what I should have expected from him. Why did he make promises, and then neglect his relations?"

"I believe that conscientiously he did not dare to come," said Norman.

"I know that he was greatly struck with Ethel at the time of the Commemoration, and therefore I could never again press him to come here."

"Oh, Norman, you hard-hearted monster! What a bad conductor!"

"I do not wish to be a conductor," said Norman. "If you had seen Glenbracken and the old people, you would perceive that it would not have been suitable on our part to promote anything of the kind."

"Would they have been so violent?"

"Not violent, but it would have been a severe struggle. They are good, kind people, but with strong prejudices; and, though I have no doubt they would have yielded to steady attachment on their son's part, and such conduct as Ethel's would have been, I could not lead in that direction."

"Is that pride, Norman?"

"I hope not."

"It is doing by others as you were doing by yourself," half whispered Meta; "but, after all, if he had no constancy, Ethel had an escape."

"I was afraid that she had been rather touched, but I am glad to find myself mistaken."

"If you thought so, how could you make such a public announcement?"

He laughed. "I had made myself so nervous as to the effect, that, in desperation, I took her own way, and came out at once with it as unconsciously as I could."

"Very naturally you acted unconsciousness! It was better than insulting her by seeming to condole. Not that I do, though, for she deserves more steadiness than he has shown! If a man could appreciate her at all, I should have thought that it would have been once and for ever."

"Remember, he had barely known her a fortnight, and probably had no reason to believe that he had made any impression on her. He knew how such an attachment would grieve his parents, and, surely, he was acting dutifully, and with self-denial and consideration, in not putting himself in the way of being further attracted."

"Umph! You make a good defence, Norman, but I cannot forgive him for marrying somebody else, who cannot be Ethel's equal."

"She is a good little girl; he will form her, and be very happy; perhaps more so than with a great soul and strong nature like Ethel's."

"Only he is a canny Scot, and not a Dr. Spencer!"

"Too short acquaintance! besides, there were the parents. Moreover, what would become of home without Ethel?"

"The unanswerable argument to make one contented," said Meta. "And, certainly, to be wife to a Member of Parliament is not so very delightful that one would covet it for her."

"Any more than she does for herself."

Norman was right in his view of his friend's motives, as well as of Ethel's present feelings. If there had ever been any disappointment about Norman Ogilvie, it had long since faded away. She had never given away the depths of her heart, though the upper surface had been stirred.

All had long subsided, and she could think freely of him as an agreeable cousin, in whose brilliant public career she should always be interested, without either a wish to partake it, or a sense of injury or neglect. She had her vocation, in her father, Margaret, the children, home, and Cocksmoor; her mind and affections were occupied, and she never thought of wishing herself elsewhere.

The new church and the expected return of her sisters engrossed many more of her thoughts than did anything relating to Glenbracken.

She could not bear to talk of Flora, though almost as uneasy as was Margaret; and not able to lay aside misgivings, lest even her good simple Mary might have had her head turned by gaiety.

Mr. and Mrs. Rivers arrived on the Saturday before the Tuesday fixed for the consecration, and stopped on their way, that they might see Margaret, deposit Mary, and resume Meta.

It was a short visit, and all that Ethel could discover was, that Flora was looking very ill, no longer able to conceal the worn and fagged expression of her countenance, and evidently dreadfully shocked by the sight of the havoc made by disease on Margaret's frame. Yet she talked with composure of indifferent subjects--the yacht, the visits, the Bucephalus, the church, and the arrangements for St. Andrew's Day. She owned herself overworked, and in need of rest, and, as she was not well enough to venture on being present at the consecration, she undertook to spend the day with Margaret, thus setting the others at liberty. This settled, she took her leave, for the journey had fatigued her greatly.

During the short visit, Mary had moved and spoken so quietly, and looked so well-dressed and young-lady-like, that, in spite of her comfortable plump cheeks, Ethel felt quite afraid!

But the instant the carriage had driven off, there was a skipping, a hugging, a screaming, "Oh, it is so nice to be at home again!"--and Ethel knew she had her own Mary. It was only a much better looking and more mannerly Mary, in the full bloom of seventeen, open and honest-faced, her profuse light hair prettily disposed, her hands and arms more civilised, and her powers of conversation and self-possession developed. Mary-like were her caresses of Gertrude, Mary-like her inquiries for Cocksmoor, Mary-like her insisting on bringing her boxes into Margaret's room, her exulting exhibition of all the pretty things that Flora and George had given to her, and the still more joyous bestowal of presents upon everybody.

Her tastes were not a whit altered, nor her simplicity diminished. If she was pleased by joining a large dinner-party, her satisfaction was in the amusement of seeing well-dressed people, and a grand table; her knowledge of the world only reached to pronouncing everything unlike home, "so funny;" she had relished most freshly and innocently every pleasure that she could understand, she had learned every variety of fancy work to teach Blanche and Miss Bracy, had been the delight of every schoolroom and nursery, had struck up numberless eternal friendships, and correspondences with girls younger and shyer than herself, and her chief vexations seemed to have been first, that Flora insisted on her being called Miss May, secondly, that all her delights could not be shared by every one at home, and thirdly, that poor Flora could not bear to look at little children.