lid off her distress, stirring it up, and
distilling from it and the drying juices of his heart more of this
creditable pity.

"Nelly," he said jocosely, "I've been hearing tales about you."

She answered, "I know it. Mr. Philip has told me."

"Ay, I thought he would," said Mr. Mactavish James comfortably. He could
also make a pretty good guess at the temper his son Philip had put into
the telling. For he was an old man, and knew that a young man in love
may not be the quiet, religious lover pondering how a minute's kissing
under the moon can sanctify all the next day's daylight that the poets
describe him. He may be inflamed out of youth's semblance by jealousy,
and decide that since he has no claws to tear the female flesh as it
deserves, he will do what he can with cruel words and treachery. It is
just luck, the kind of man one happens to be born. Well, it was just
luck....

"He's tremendous excited about seeing you and Mr. Yaverland, Nelly."

Her eyes were blue fire. "Och, 'twas him that saw me! He said it was a
client."

He covered his mouth with his hand, but decided to give his son away.
All his life he had been rejecting the claims of beauty and gentle
things, and he could be sure that his well-brought-up family would go on
doing it after he was in his grave. Over this one little point, which
did not really matter, he could afford to be handsome. "Aye, 'twas Mr.
Philip that saw you," he owned easily, and swerved his head before the
long look, pansy-soft with gratitude, that she now turned on him. The
girl was so inveterately inclined to dilate on the pleasant things of
life that his generosity in admitting that his son was a liar, and thus
assuring her that her shame had not been as public as she had supposed,
quite wiped out all her other emotions. She fairly glowed about it; and
at that the old man felt curiously ashamed, as if he had gained a
child's prattling thanks by giving it a bad sixpence, although he could
not see what he had done that was not all right. He rubbed his hands and
tried to kindle a jollity by crying, "Well, what would I do but tell
you? If I hadn't, ye'd have been running about distributing black eyes
among my clients just on suspicion, ye fierce wee randy!"

"Och, you make fun of me--!" She smiled, palely, and gnawed the ginger
stick, her jaw being so impeded by her desire to cry that she could not
bite it.

"Poor bairn! Poor bairn!" he sighed, and his pity for the little thing