Meanwhile Charles Murray had gone back to the house, and was talking to Jeanie, who for some reason which she did not herself quite divine, had been shy of venturing out this special evening with the others. Perhaps the young doctor thought she was waiting for him. At all events it was a relief to go and talk to one in whom no criticism could be. “You feel quite strong and well again, Jeanie?” he said. “Oh yes, quite strong and well--quite better,” she said, looking up at him with that soft smile of subjection and dependence which most people to whom it is addressed find so sweet. “You should not say quite better,” he said, smiling too, though the phrase would by times steal even from his own educated lips. “I wonder sometimes, Jeanie, after passing some months in England as you did, that you should still continue so Scotch. I like it, of course--in a way.” Here Jeanie, whose face had overcast, brightened again and smiled--a smile which this time, however, did not arrest him in his critical career. “I like it, in a way,” said Charles, doubtfully. “Here on Loch Arroch side it is very sweet, and appropriate to the place; but if you were going out--into the world, Jeanie.” “No fear of that,” said Jeanie, with a soft laugh. “On the contrary, there is much fear of it--or much hope of it, I should say. There are many men who would give all they have in the world for a smile from your sweet face. I mean,” said the young man, withdrawing half a step backward, and toning himself down from this extravagance, “I mean that there is no doubt you could marry advantageously--if you liked to exert yourself.” “You should not speak like that to me,” cried Jeanie, with a sudden hot flush; “there is nothing of the kind in my head.” “Say your mind, not your head, Jeanie; and like the dear good girl you are, say head, not _heed_,” said Dr. Charles with a curious mixture of annoyance and admiration; and then he added, drawing closer. “Jeanie, do you not think you would like to go to school?” “To school? I am not a little bairn,” said Jeanie with some indignation, “I have had my schooling, all that Granny thought I wanted. Besides,” she continued proudly, “I must look after Granny now.” “She has asked Margaret to come to her,” said the young man, “and don’t you think, Jeanie, if you could be sent to a school for a time--not to learn much you know, not for lessons or anything of that kind; but to get more used to the world, and to what you would have to encounter if you went into the world--and perhaps to get a few accomplishments, a little French, or the piano, or something like that?” “What would I do, learning French and the piano?” said Jeanie; her countenance had over-clouded during the first part of his speech, but gradually gave way to wonder and amusement as he went on. “Are you thinking of Jeanie MacKell who can play tunes, and speak such fine English? Granny would not like that, and neither would I.”