'I don't like the conduct of Sir Redmond, of course, Blanche,' said Lady Dunkeld, 'and have no wish that he should involve himself with an obscure girl whom he met in our house.' 'I believe it to be all nothing more than a mere _coquetterie de salon_,' said Lord Dunkeld. 'Sleath is not a marrying man.' 'And Captain Colville's conduct with the other sister, wandering away into remote parts of the ground; I suppose that was a _coquetterie de salon_ too, mamma,' said Blanche, her eyes sparkling with anger, while she shrugged her shoulders, and briskly used her dark blue and bronzy green fan of peacocks' feathers. 'What--how?' 'They strolled away from everyone together, and were absent ever so long.' 'This is intolerable; but men will be men, you see, Blanche. If Miss Wellwood had been a married lady it would not have mattered so much. I think when a young man is attached to a married lady it keeps him out of harm's way,' said Lady Dunkeld; 'however, we must take some decided measures with Miss Wellwood, and with Captain Colville too.' 'Dear mamma!' cooed Miss Blanche Galloway, and she laughed that worldly little laugh of hers, which was so indicative of her character. The result of all this was that, when Mary and Ellinor called ceremoniously shortly after the garden-party, Lady Dunkeld, who was seated at one of the drawing-room windows, on seeing them approach, rose hastily and retired. 'No one was at home.' Next day the sisters were scarcely noticed by Lady Dunkeld and her daughter at church. Other persons were not slow to remark this, and the surmises thereon--though the two girls knew nothing about them--were the reverse of pleasant or flattering. Mary observed the absence of Captain Colville, who was not in the Dunkeld pew; and on the following day she felt a keen pang on learning that he was gone for a few days to shoot with Lord Dunkeld in the Forest of Alyth. So he had gone without paying her a farewell visit, thought Mary. 'He is to return in a fortnight,' said her informant, Mrs. Wodrow, near whose chair Mary was seated on a tabourette in the cosy manse parlour, making up a gala-cap for the old lady; and near her crouched Jack, watching the process. The parlour was a pretty apartment, neither morning-room nor boudoir, though somewhat of both, with many indications of a woman's presence. Rare old china was disposed in odd nooks, and china bowls with roses freshly gathered from the garden; and the furniture, if old-fashioned, and pertaining to the early days of Mrs. Wodrow's homecoming to the manse as a young wedded wife, was all polished to perfection. On a shelf was an imposing row of the 'Wodrow Society's' religious publications, including 'The Last Words of My Lady Coltness,' 'Of My Lady Anne Elcho,' the life of the gallant Covenanter, Sergeant John Nisbet of Hardhill, and so forth.