The Twa Miss Dawsons Part 18

"Is Mr Manners a rich man, papa?"

"A rich man? I should say not. Indeed he tells me as much as that. He has a professional income, enough to live comfortably upon. He is a scholar and a gentleman, and money is a secondary consideration."

"Yes--if every thing else is right," said Jean a little surprised. She had not supposed that in any case, money would be a secondary consideration with her father.

"But he is a stranger, and--an Englishman."

Mr Dawson laughed.

"An Englishman! That can hardly be put as an objection, I should think.

He is a stranger--in a sense--but he is a man well-known in his own circle, and beyond it--a man much respected, they tell me."

Jean knew by her father's manner that he was as much pleased as he was surprised.

"She is very young," said she in a little.

"She is old enough to know her own mind, I suppose, and there need be no haste, if it is to be. I think I must let him come."

"And I am not to speak to her?"

"Oh! as to that, I suppose he only meant that he wished to tell his own story. Still as there is no time set for his coming, it may be as well to say nothing for a day or two."

"Very well," and Jean rose and went away.

"She doesna seem to be over weel pleased at this, but she'll come round.

I'm glad that it should be her sister rather than her that I maun part with. I could ill spare my Jean," said Mr Dawson to himself, as his eye followed her as she moved slowly down the walk. "Though I dare say her turn will come," he added with a sigh.

It was not that Jean was ill-pleased, but she was disturbed at the thought of trouble that might be before them.

"My father will never listen to a word about Willie Calderwood. And unless May is very firm--"

And she could not but have serious doubts of May's firmness in withstanding the will of her father.

"But at least he will not force her to many any one else. I could help her to stand out against such a thing as that. And I will too," said Jean.

But a greater surprise than her father had given her at home, awaited her at the Tangle Stanes. May sat on the lower ridge of rock where she had sheltered herself that day, while Jean watched for the "John Seaton." This was a very different day from that. There was no wind to-day and the sun shone and the air was soft and warm. The sea was calm and blue as the sky--with only here and there a touch of white where the tiny wavelets broke on the half hidden rocks beyond the Tangle Stanes. Jean stood still, and looked out upon it, pondering many things, then her eye fell on her sister.

She was singing softly to herself, as she plucked at the dried stalks of last summer's weeds that still clung to the sheltered side of the rock, or gathered the broken bits of stone, and threw them down into the sea.

She was looking neither sad nor anxious, she was smiling, at her own thoughts, Jean fancied, as she stood still a minute or two looking down upon her. Then May turned and saw.

"Such a bonny day?" said she.

"Yes--a bonny day indeed. Where is Hugh?"

"He's not far away. I told him that we would wait for him here. Will you come down, or shall I come up to you?"

"I'll come to you. Some one might join us if we were to stay up in sight, and I have something to say to you. Or rather I have a question to ask you about some one."

"Well, come then. Is it about anyone in--London?" asked May smiling, while a little colour rose to her cheek.

"No," said Jean gravely. "I am going to ask you about Willie Calderwood. And indeed I think you might have spoken more plainly to me long ago."

May laughed.

"I have often wondered that you have never spoken plainly to me."

"Have you? Well, being your elder sister, perhaps I ought to have done so. I did not like to speak, since you did not."

"Just so. And I did not like to speak to you for the same reason."

"Well, we will speak now. May," said she softly, laying her hand on her sister's shoulder, "tell me just how it is between Willie and you."

"I don't understand you, Jean. There is nothing in the world between Willie and me."

"May, have you--changed your mind? Don't you care for him any longer?"

"I don't know what you mean. As to caring for him--of course I care for him--in a way. But, Jean, it is not me that Willie Calderwood cares for. He has said nothing to me that he might not have said to--almost any one in Portie."

"May, have you forgotten a year ago?--how you came here a year ago, because he asked you? Of course he could not speak, because of my father. Do you mean that he doesna care for you--more than for any one else."

"He has kept it to himself, if he does. Oh! yes, I know--my father.

But if he had had any thing to say, he would have said it, or I would have guessed it. I don't know why you should have taken the like of that into your head."

"I saw him seeking you out wherever we met. He said more to you at such times than to all the rest of us put together. He followed you always.

Every one saw it as well as I. And then the day he went away--"

"Oh, Jean, what nonsense! I came that day to please you. You made me come. You must mind that well enough. As for his asking me, it was more than half in jest. I am sure he did not expect me to come. And he never could have seen us, on such a day."

"And do you mean that if he were to come home to Portie and not find you here, it would be all the same to him?"

"Oh! he'll find me here when he comes, and I shall be glad to see him safe and well. But he has no right to expect a warmer welcome from me than from--any other friend, and he doesna expect it."

Jean looked at her in amazement.

"Have I been dreaming all the year?" said she.

"It would seem so. I have just as much right to ask you about Willie Calderwood, as you have to ask me."

Jean shook her head.

"He has very seldom spoken to me since--the old days."

"But that might be because of my father, ye ken," said May laughing.

And then she added gravely, "We may be glad that there is nothing between him and either of us, Jean. It would only have been another heartbreak. I have fancied whiles, that _you_ were thinking about him-- but I am very, _very_ glad for your sake that--"

"Of course I have been thinking about him--about him and you. I ought to be glad that I have been only dreaming, as you say, because of my father. But--poor Willie!--I doubt he has been dreaming too."

"No, Jean, not about me. And even if it had been as you thought, I would never have listened to him, and indeed he never would have spoken after all that's come and gone."