'He is, but I don't think it's flirting in this case,' said Mrs. Fordyce seriously. 'I am afraid we, or at least I, have been very indiscreet.'

'You wouldn't approve then, Isabel? George is a trifle vain and silly, but I never heard anything against his character.'

'I suppose not. We would be the last to hear any such rumours. But it isn't fair to the girl; she has not had a chance. Do you know what people will say of us, Tom? That we took her away down here and shut her up among ourselves for the very purpose of matchmaking. It is a blessing our Leonard is only a boy, but it is bad enough that it should be our nephew.'

'There's a good deal of truth in what you say, but the world must just wag its stupid tongue. If the thing is to be, we can't prevent it.'

'We can, we must. She is only a child, Tom. I feel quite convicted of my own sinful want of observation. I have been thinking of it all day, and my mind is made up, provided you, as her guardian, will give your consent. She must go abroad. Do you remember Henrietta Duncan, who married the French officer? She is living in Bruges now, taking a few English ladies into her house. Gladys must go there.'

Mr. Fordyce looked at his wife in profound astonishment. He had not often heard her speak in such a very determined manner.

'Why, of course I can't have any objections, if the child herself is willing to go,' he said. 'Not that I believe it will do an atom of good.

If there is a love affair in the matter, opposition is the very life of them. Don't you remember our own case?' he asked, referring, with a smile, to the old romance which had kept them true through years of opposition and discouragement.

'I haven't forgotten it,' she said, with an answering smile, 'only it is impossible these two in so short a time can be seriously involved. I'll find out this very day.'

'You are not in favour of it, Isabel, and a wilful woman must have her way.'

'It's not altogether fear of the world's opinion, Tom; there's something about George I don't--nay, can't like. He is very handsome, and can be very agreeable, but I never feel that he is sincere, and he is profoundly selfish. Even his mother says that.'

'Ay, well, she would need kind dealing, Isabel; she is a highly-strung creature,' said the lawyer thoughtfully, and the subject dropped.

[Ill.u.s.tration]

CHAPTER XX.

PLANS.

While these golden days were speeding by the sea, Bourhill was being put in order for its young mistress. Her interest in the alterations was very keen; there were very few days in which they did not drive to the old house, and Mrs. Fordyce was surprised alike at the common-sense and the artistic taste she displayed in that interest.

'Do you think, dear Mrs. Fordyce,' she asked one day, when they happened to be alone together at Bourhill,--'do you think the house could be ready for me by the end of September, when you return to Glasgow?'

'It will be ready, of course; there is really very little to do now,'

replied Mrs. Fordyce. 'But why do you ask?'

'Why, because if it is ready, then I need not go up with you. You have been very kind--I can never, never forget it; but, of course, when I have a home of my own it would not be right of me to trespa.s.s any longer on your kindness,' said Gladys thoughtfully.

Mrs. Fordyce could not forbear a smile.

'How old are you, my dear? I do not know that I have ever heard your age exactly.'

'I shall be eighteen next month.'

'Eighteen next month?--not a very responsible age. Is it possible, my dear, that you feel perfectly fit to take possession here, that you would have no tremors regarding your lonely position and your responsibility?'

'I have no such feeling, Mrs. Fordyce. I could live here quite well. Is there any reason why I should not?' she asked, observing the doubtful expression on the face of her kind friend.

'It is quite impossible, my dear, whatever your feelings may be,--altogether out of the question that you should live here alone.'

'But tell me why? I am not a child. I have always seemed to occupy a responsible position, where I have had to think and act for myself.'

'Yes, you have; but your position is entirely altered now. It would not be proper for you to live in this great house alone, with no company but that of servants. Mr. Fordyce would but poorly fulfil his promise to your poor uncle if he entertained such an idea for a moment. If you are to live at Bourhill at all, you must have a responsible person to live with you. But we had other plans for you.'

'Tell me what plans, please,' said Gladys, with that simple directness which made evasion of any question impossible to her, or to any conversing with her.

'Mr. Fordyce and I have thought that it would be to your advantage to winter abroad. I have an old school-friend, who married a French officer, and who is now left widowed in poor circ.u.mstances in Bruges.

You would be most happy and comfortable with Madame Bonnemain. She is one of the sweetest and most charming of women, musical and cultured; her companionship would be invaluable to you.'

'I do not think I wish to go abroad, meanwhile. Would you and Mr.

Fordyce think it ungrateful if I refused to go?'

'Well, no,' replied Mrs. Fordyce, though with a slight accent of surprise. 'But can you tell me what is your objection?'

'I want to come here and live just as soon as it is possible,' said Gladys, looking round the dismantled house with wistful, affectionate eyes. 'I want to have my very own house; I can never feel that it is mine until I live in it; and I have many plans.'

'Would you mind telling me some of them?' said Mrs. Fordyce rather anxiously. She was a very practical person--attentive to the laws of conventionality, and she did not feel at all sure of the views entertained by her husband's ward.

'I want to be a help to people, if I can,' said Gladys, 'especially to working girls in Glasgow--to those poor creatures who sew in the garrets and cellars. I know of them. I have seen them at their work, and it is dreadful to me to think of them. Sometimes this summer, when I have been so happy, I have thought of some I know, and reproached myself with my own selfish forgetfulness. You see, if I do not help where I _know_ of the need, I am not a good steward of the money G.o.d has given me.'

'But tell me, my dear child, how would you propose to help?' asked Mrs.

Fordyce, inwardly touched, but wishing to understand clearly what Gladys wished and intended to do. There seemed no indecision or wavering about her, she spoke with all the calm dignity of a woman who knew and owned her responsibilities.

'I can help them in various ways. I can have them here sometimes, especially when they are not strong; so many of them are not strong, Mrs. Fordyce. Oh, I have been so sorry for them, and some of them have never, never been out of these dreadful streets. Oh, I can help them in a thousand ways.'

Mrs. Fordyce was silent, not knowing very well how to answer. She saw many difficulties ahead, yet hesitated to chill the girl's young enthusiasm, which seemed a beautiful and a heavenly thing even to the woman of the world, who believed that it could never come to fruition.

'There is something else which might be done. What would you say to Madame Bonnemain coming here to live with you as housekeeper and chaperon?'

'If you, knowing us both, think it would be a happy arrangement, I shall be happy,' Gladys said; and the wisdom of the reply struck Mrs. Fordyce.

Certainly, in many respects Gladys spoke and acted like a woman who had tasted the experience of life.

'My love, anybody could live with you, and unless sorrow and care have materially changed Henrietta Bonnemain, anybody could live with her,'

she said cheerfully. 'Suppose we take a little trip to Belgium, and see what can be done to arrange it?'

'Oh yes, that would be delightful. I shall know just at once whether Madame Bonnemain and I can be happy together. Is she a Scotch lady?'

'To the backbone. She was born at Shandon, on the Gairloch, and we went to Brussels to school together. She never came back--married at eighteen, Gladys, and only a wife five years. She has had a hard life,'

said Mrs. Fordyce, and her eyes grew dim over the memories of her youth.

'Can we go soon, then?' asked Gladys fervently; 'just when they are finishing the house? Then we could bring Madame back with us.'

'My dear, you will not let the gra.s.s grow under your feet, nor allow any one else to loiter by the way,' said Mrs. Fordyce, with a laugh. 'Well, we shall see what Mr. Fordyce has to say to-night to these grand plans.'

Some days after that conversation, Mrs. Macintyre was labouring over her washing-tub in her very limited domain in the back court off Colquhoun Street, when a quick, light knock came to her door.