'Ye'll be gaun to get mairret next?' she added, looking at Gladys, who smiled and nodded, with slightly heightened colour.

'Well, what is to be done? Are you going down with me to-day?' she asked, looking from one to another, and tapping her dainty foot a trifle impatiently on the floor.

'I canna come the day, for my claes are a' at Maryhill,' said Liz.

'But I'll gang for them, Liz,' put in the little seamstress quickly.

'They can be easy got frae Maryhill afore nicht. It's only twelve o'clock the noo.'

'There need not be any such hurry; I think I shall stay in town all night,' said Gladys, 'and you can arrange it together, either to go with me or alone. Teen can manage it; she knows all about the trains, having been there before. I shall be sure to be home not later than to-morrow night, and if anything should prevent me getting down then, there is Miss Peck, Teen, who, you know, will make you very welcome.'

'Yes, I ken,' nodded Teen. 'If ye only kent what like a place it is, Liz, ye wad be jumpin'.'

'I'm sure I dinna ken what way ye want me doon there,' said Liz, relapsing into her weary, indifferent manner. 'I canna understand it.'

'Can't you?' asked Gladys merrily. 'Well, I want you, that's all. I want to have the pleasure of seeing you grow strong and well again. n.o.body shall meddle with you. You shall do just as you like, and you two will be companions to each other.'

Teen looked reproachfully at her friend, wondering to see her so undemonstrative, never even uttering a single word of thanks for the kindness so freely offered. She shook hands with Gladys in silence, and allowed her to depart without further remark.

'You'll make sure that she comes down, Teen?' said Gladys, when they were outside the door. 'Poor thing, she looks dreadfully ill and unhappy. Where _do_ you think she has been?'

Teen mournfully shook her head, and her large eyes filled with tears.

'I'll no' let her away,' she answered firmly. 'If she'll no' come doon to Bourhill, I'll see that she disna gang onywhere else withoot me.'

'You are a faithful friend,' said Gladys quickly. 'Has she--has she seen her brother?'

Teen wondered somewhat at the hesitation with which the question was asked.

'Ay; he was here yesterday.'

'And what did he say, Teen? Oh, I hope he was very gentle with her.'

'I wasna in a' the time, but I'm sure that kinder he couldna hae been.

He wanted her to gang to Colquhoun Street an' bide, but she wadna.'

'Well, I hope she will come to Bourhill, and I think she will.

Good-bye.'

'Weel, hae ye gotten me weel discussed?' queried Liz sarcastically, when the little seamstress returned to the kitchen. 'I canna understand that la.s.sie by onybody.'

'Nor I a'thegither, but I ken she's guid,' she answered simply. 'Ye will gang to Bourhill, Liz?'

'Maybe; I'll see. I say, do ye ken wha she's gaun to mairry?'

'I have an inklin',' replied Teen, and said no more, though her face became yet more gravely troubled.

'Liz,' she said suddenly, 'will ye tell me wan thing afore we gang doon to Bourhill, if we gang?'

'What is't?'

'Had Fordyce onything to dae wi' you gaun awa' when you did?'

'Mind yer ain business,' replied Liz, with the utmost calmness, not even changing colour. 'I'm no' gaun to tell ye a single thing. My concerns are my ain, an' if ye're no' pleased, weel, I can shift.'

The girl's matter-of-fact, unruffled demeanour somewhat allayed Teen's burning anxiety, and, afraid to try Liz too far, lest she should insist on leaving her, she held her peace.

[Ill.u.s.tration]

CHAPTER x.x.xV.

A REVELATION.

'Your Aunt Isabel was here this afternoon, George,' said Mrs. Fordyce to her son, when he came home from the mill that evening. 'She came over to tell me Gladys is in town. I said I thought you did not expect her.'

'No, I did not,' George replied. 'What's she up for?--anything new?'

'Oh, one of her fads. Something about one of these girls from the slums.

Your aunt seemed to be rather distressed. She thinks Gladys is going quite too far, and she really took the opportunity, when the girls had all gone to a studio tea, to come over to consult me. We both think you are quite ent.i.tled to interfere.'

George shook his head.

'It is all very easy for you to say that, but I tell you Gladys won't stand that sort of thing.'

'But, my dear, she must be made to stand it. I must say her conduct is most unwomanly. If she is to be your wife, she must be taught that you are to be considered in some ways. You must be very firm with her, George; it will save no end of trouble afterwards.'

Mrs. George Fordyce was a large stout person, of imposing presence, and she delivered herself of this admirable sentiment most impressively; but though her son quite agreed with her, and wished with all his heart that the girl of his choice were a little less erratic and self-willed, he was wise enough to know that any attempt at coercion would be the very last thing to make her amenable to reason.

'What girl is it now?' he asked, with affected carelessness, but furtive anxiety. 'The same one who has been staying at Bourhill?'

'No; something far worse--a dreadful low creature, who has been missing for some time. If Gladys were not as innocent as a baby she would know that she is a creature not fit to be spoken to. Really, George, that Miss Peck is utterly useless as a chaperon. I wish we knew what to do.

It is one of the most exasperating and delicate affairs possible.'

'That girl!' repeated George, so blankly that his mother looked at him in sharp amazement. 'Heavens! then it's all up, mother.'

'All up? What on earth do you mean?'

'What I say. Is it a girl called Hepburn?' he asked half desperately, afraid to tell his mother, and yet feeling that she, and she alone, might help him.

'I believe so. Yes, Hepburn was certainly the name your aunt mentioned.

Well, what then?'

'Simply that if Gladys has got in tow with this girl, and takes her down to Bourhill, I'm ruined.'

'How?'