“We must just humour her, Susie,” said the minister.
“Do so if you like, papa,” said Susie; “but not me. I have plenty to do at home.”
“She thinks Mr Maitland may perhaps look in, to ask for the hundredth time if she will fix the day. That’s always amusing--a man after you like that; but make her come, James, make her come. I want her to come with us to-night.”
“I tell you we will just have to humour her, Susie,” Mr Logan said. He was charmed, and yet he was a little troubled too by the vivacity of his betrothed. When she was “at the manse,” as he said, she must be made to understand that nocturnal expeditions like this were not in an elderly bridegroom’s way. But at all events, for once she must be humoured to-night.
Mrs Ogilvy rose from her bed after the little conversation which had roused her more effectually than anything else could have done, more than half ashamed of having slept, and a little feverish with her sudden awakening and Robbie’s strange demand: and though it was late--more like, indeed, the proper and lawful moment for going to bed than for getting up and making an unnecessary toilet in the middle of the night--put on her cap again, and her pretty white shawl, and went down-stairs. She had put on one of the fine embroidered China crape-shawls which were for the evening, and, to correspond with that, a clean cap with perfectly fresh ribbons, which gave her the air of being in her best, more carefully dressed than usual. And her long sleep had refreshed her. When she went into the dining-room, where Janet was removing the remains of the supper from the table, she was like an image of peace and whiteness and brightness coming into the room, to which, however, carefully Janet might arrange it, the two men always gave a certain aspect of disorder. Mrs Ogilvy had tried to dismiss from her face every semblance of agitation. She would not remember the request Robbie had made to her, nor think of it at all save as a sudden impulse of reckless generosity on his part to his friend. The two young men, however, were not equally successful in composing their faces. Robbie had his pipe in his hand, which he had crammed with tobacco, pushing it down with his thumb, as if to try how much it would contain; but he did not light it: and even Lew, usually so careless and smiling, looked grave. He it was who jumped up to place a chair for her. Janet had so far improved matters that the remains of the meal were all cleared away, and only the white tablecloth left on the table.