"For a man--of course," he said hastily. "I meant for a man. But in a general way I think I may say that love's the thing for everybody! It's the thing for you and me anyhow, eh, Jean?"

Jean felt as though she had scrubbed a lump of crystal and found it to be a diamond. How was it she had never before discovered these depths of affection and geniality below his awe-inspiring exterior? She had not scrubbed hard enough!

"Yes, indeed!" said she. "Oh, I do understand you now. Father, I'm so happy! And you won't think too hardly of Mr. Vernon, will you?"

"H'm," smiled her father. "That's a matter we might well take to avizandum, I think."

For a daughter of a Writer to the Signet, Jean was woefully ignorant.

She did not know what avizandum meant in the least. But she felt sure it was the name of one of the roads to happiness; and she hugged him again.

It was in the midst of this embrace that Mrs. Donaldson entered. She had always esteemed the author of her own existence and her family's prosperity, but she had never hugged him; nor had he shown any evidence of desiring such an operation.

"Good gracious, Jean!" she exclaimed.

"We are arranging a bike ride," beamed her father.

To complete the confusion of his more creditable daughter, this improbable announcement was accompanied by an unabashed wink, directed at his less creditable child apparently for the superfluous purpose of a.s.suring her he jested.

That evening Mr. Walkingshaw began to be discussed by his fellow-citizens in earnest.

CHAPTER VI

"You're not drinking, Andrew," said Mr. Walkingshaw. "Go on, fill up your gla.s.s. Man, do you call that filling a gla.s.s? Here's the way."

Leaning across the table, he poured in the port till it stood above the rim, with the steady hand of a man of forty. He was hardly as young as that yet, but he was amazingly rejuvenated. It could not possibly last, Andrew said to himself; still, he felt dreadfully uncomfortable.

"You seem very anxious I should drink," he said gloomily, looking askance at his br.i.m.m.i.n.g gla.s.s.

"You're so dull, my boy," his father answered genially. "There's no life in you at all. You for a lover! You ought to have come back looking happy. One would think she'd broken it off."

It was the evening of the same day. Andrew had returned from his visit to the Berstouns shortly after Mrs. Donaldson departed, and as Frank was dining out, he and his father sat alone together over their wine.

"I've no reason to feel particularly happy," he said.

"Eh?" cried his father. "Nothing gone wrong, is there?"

"I don't understand these women."

"No," said Mr. Walkingshaw, with jovial candor, "you'd be a bit of a stick with the s.e.x, I can well imagine. You haven't the cut of a ladies'

man: but it's all a matter of practice, my boy; just a matter of learning experience as you go along. What did she say to you?"

Andrew was divided in mind. This tone exasperated him beyond measure. He felt inclined to leave the room. Yet, on the other hand, he judged himself ill-used by his betrothed, and when he had any ground of grievance, he had the pleasant habit of venting his complaints as long as his audience would listen to him. To-night the habit proved even stronger than his distaste for his high-spirited parent.

"She was queer," said he.

"They're all that," replied Mr. Walkingshaw knowingly. "The great thing is not to mind what they say. It's what they do that counts: and she'd be affectionate, I suppose, eh?"

"I've never gone in for much of your spooning and kissing and that sort of thing," began Andrew.

"The more fool you!" interrupted his parent. "What do you think a girl gets engaged for if it isn't to be cuddled?"

He surprised himself by his own ac.u.men. The late Mrs. W. had not been in the least that sort of lady, and he had never been engaged to anybody else; yet here he was laying down the law with the serenest confidence.

Some divine instinct must be inspiring him. His son seemed less favorably impressed with his sagacity.

"Ellen's not that sort of girl," said he.

"My dear fellow, they're all that sort. At least, that's my view of the matter. Well, what's gone wrong?"

"I don't know," said Andrew sourly. "I can't make her out. She's different somehow. It was almost as though she wasn't so fond of me."

"Are you sure you've done nothing to annoy her? They're very touchy, you know."

"I haven't done a thing to annoy her. I can swear to _that_."

"Then," said Mr. Walkingshaw, with inspired conviction, "there's some other fellow cutting you out."

Andrew started.

"Who?"

"Oh, I don't know all her neighbors. It's n.o.body she's met here, I suppose."

"She never saw a man when she was here but Frank and me."

"Then it's some one in Perthshire," p.r.o.nounced Mr. Walkingshaw, emphatically but cheerfully.

Andrew frowned at his still br.i.m.m.i.n.g gla.s.s. He trusted that he did not overvalue himself; at the same time, the idea of another being preferred by a girl who had once enjoyed the privilege of being engaged to Andrew Walkingshaw struck him as far-fetched.

"I don't think it's another man," he said.

"It's my opinion it is, Andrew; and I'm not wanting to lose so nice a daughter-in-law, so you've got to see that she doesn't turn round altogether. You've got to go in and win; make sure of her, my boy!"

Mr. Walkingshaw grew more and more animated and his son more and more distressed. He was behaving so unlike the senior partner in Walkingshaw & Gilliflower.

"What are you wanting me to do?"

"Behave less like a d.a.m.ned umbrella," p.r.o.nounced Mr. Walkingshaw, with a startling lapse into epigram.

Andrew stared.

"Oh?" said he.

"Be lively, and--er--amorous, and--ah--sparkling; that's the sort of thing. Go in for a few new ties and waistcoats. Socks, too, are things that the young men display considerable enterprise in. I was tempted myself this afternoon by a shop window full of really remarkably chaste hosiery--pale green with stripes! you'd look first cla.s.s in them. I came to the conclusion at last that perhaps I was hardly young enough for them yet; but I invested in half a dozen ties of quite a tasty design."

"_You_ bought half a dozen ties!" exclaimed Andrew.