“Now, Kirsteen,” cried Lady Chatty, “quick, quick, now that mamma’s gone--her bark is a great deal worse than her bite--tell me all about it. They wanted to make you marry old Glendochart? Oh, parents are like that everywhere--they want me, too. And couldn’t you just face them and get over them as I do? Couldn’t you just? Miss Jean, she is crying--but I meant no harm.” “Lady Chatty,” said Kirsteen, “will you try and get her Grace not to write? If I were ever so willing my father would never more let me come back. Oh, if I might just be left alone!--for I cannot tell you everything. My family is not like other families. If I was dying for it they would never more take me home again. Oh, if I might just be let alone!” “I told you, Miss Kirsteen, what would be the end of it,” said Miss Jean, “and that you would bring me into trouble too.” “Oh, never mind these old people, they are all the same,” cried Lady Chatty. “But,” she added, “I almost wonder after all, Kirsteen, you did not marry old Glendochart; he would have freed you from all the rest, and he would have done whatever you pleased. And nobody could have put a question or said a word. So long,” said this experienced young lady, looking in Kirsteen’s face, “as there was not some one else. Oh, but I see!” she cried, clapping her hands, “there is some one else.” “Will your leddyship look at this?--it is the gauze ye were inquiring after,” said Miss Jean. “I will just put it about you over your shoulder, and you will see the effect. And Miss Kirsteen, who has wonderful taste, will give us her advice. Look now in the cheval glass. What does your ladyship think of that?” “It’s divine,” cried Lady Chatty, clapping her hands; and interesting though the other subject was, the new gown and its possibilities, and a delightful discussion as to certain novel effects, carried the day. Miss Jean threw herself ecstatically into Lady Chatty’s devices by way of changing the subject, and finally in a whirlwind of questions and suggestions, petitions for Kirsteen’s confidence and recommendations of silver trimmings, the visitor was got away at last. Miss Jean, when she was gone, threw the silvery stuff with some impatience upon the floor. “I have humoured all her whims just to get you clear of her,” she said. “Oh, Miss Kirsteen, did I not tell ye what would happen when you were discovered by your grand friends?” Curiously enough, however, even to Kirsteen’s own mind there was a certain solace in the thought that these very great people, who knew so little about her, thought her of sufficient importance to interfere personally in her affairs. Her trouble and confusion before the Duchess’s reproof was wonderfully modified by the soothing sense of this distinction. It had been humbling to feel that she had no grand connections, nobody that could interfere. There was consolation in the fulfilment of Miss Jean’s prophecy.