"I am glad to see you, Allan," she said, with a charming serenity of manner. "We shall not now have many days as fair as this one is." She wore a gown of pale blue lawn, and had a great cluster of scarlet fuchsias in her hand. Behind the garden bench on which she sat, there was a hedge of fuchsias seven feet high and very thick. Her small dark head rested against its green and scarlet masses. The little bay tinkled and murmured among the pebbles at her feet. She had a book, but she was not reading. She had some crochet, but she was not working. Allan thought he had never seen her look so piquant and interesting: but she had no power to move him. The lonely, splendid beauty of the woman he had seen in his morning vision filled his heart. He sought Mary that hour only for Maggie's sake. While he was wondering how he could best introduce the conversation he desired, Mary broke the silence by a sudden question. "Cousin Allan, where were you this spring? I have often wanted to ask you." "Why did you not ask me? I wish you had, I should like to have talked on that subject. I was in the Fife fishing district." "Oh!" "Why do you feel curious, Mary?" "I have always thought there was something singular about that journey. What took you to Fife? I never heard you speak of Fife before." "It was an accident. My hat blew off, a Fife fisherman got it for me. I liked the man, and went back to Fife with him." "Accidents open the door to Fate. Now then, what singular thing happened to you in Fife?" "Nothing unusual happened. Is this my catechism or yours, Mary?" "We can divide it. It is your turn to question." "Do you know why I left home?" "You had a 'difference' with Uncle John." "What about?" "Money, I dare say. I feel sure you were very extravagant while you were abroad." "It was not about money." "About going into business then? You ought to do something, Allan. It is a shame for you to be so lazy." "It was not about business. It was about you." "Me!" "My dear Mary, for what I am going to say, I beg your pardon in advance, for I feel keenly the position in which I must appear before you. You know that the welfare of Drumloch has been my father's object by day, and his dream by night. He cannot bear to think of a stranger or a strange name in its old rooms. Long ago, when we were little children, our marriage was planned, and when the place was clear, and you had grown to a beautiful womanhood, and I had completed my education, father longed to see us in Drumloch. There were points we could not agree upon. He was angry, I was obstinate--Mary, I know not how to tell you; how to ask you--"