“May they have short shoes an’ corny toes,” he added with a merry twinkle in his eyes. “Duke, a toast!” said Souter importantly. The Duke thought a moment. “Well, I drink to Mrs. MacDougall. May she soon have a house full of bairns,” he thoughtlessly proposed. Eppy gasped and turned crimson, and Lady Nancy bit her lips to keep back the smile her father’s well-meant but tactless speech occasioned. “Do you mean to insult me, my lord?” flashed Eppy indignantly. “Bless my soul, no,” returned the Duke in astonishment, who could see no reason for offense in his kindly-meant remark. “The Duke meant well,” said Souter pacifically to his wife, whose eyes were flashing angrily. “An’—an’—stranger things might happen, ye ken,” and he rubbed his chin reflectively with a sly look out of the corner of his roguish eye at Robert. She tossed her head haughtily. “’Twould not be so monstrous strange, Mr. MacDougall, as you seem to think,” she retorted frigidly. Souter opened his eyes in speechless surprise. He was about to speak, but after one bewildered glance at the disdainful face of his bride, concluded that discretion was the better part of valor, and for the rest of that day he remained in thoughtful silence reflecting on the inconsistencies of woman kind in particular, and speculating upon the strange and mysterious workings of human nature in general. The Duke bade them all adieu and passed out into the garden, where its wild beauties attracted his eye. He wandered about, forgetting, in his admiration for the flowers, his daughter, who had lingered behind for one last farewell word—alone. “And so, Mr. Burns,” she said thoughtfully, looking after Jean’s retreating figure, “you have never regretted taking the step that bound your life to that of Jean Armour’s? Regretted doing your duty?” There was a note of regret in the vibrating voice. “Never, my lady,” he replied firmly. “It was the only really good thing I have ever done in my wretched life.” She looked at him a moment with hungry eyes. “Do you never think of the old days in town?” she asked suddenly, and she was greatly surprised to see his face turn pale, his eyes flash and deepen. “For God’s sake, madam, do not mention the past!” he said, turning away. “All that has passed out of my life forever,” he murmured after a pause, “never to return.” “And you wish it so?” she asked faintly. He bowed his head slowly. She moistened her lips feverishly and drew near to him, her eyes filled with a light that would have startled him had he seen it. “Say not so! Must I give up the friendship of the only man I esteem and hold dear?” she panted breathlessly. “Oh, will you not renew the broken thread of our correspondence [he had written her several times since coming to Ellisland, but before Jean’s advent] and enjoy the sweet intercourse of thought, which will bring such gladness into my own life, and will brighten the gloom of your own, and will take naught from your wife’s peace of mind?”