The Inspector was muffled in his plaid and Mrs. Somerville knew that his duty was taking him south of Kaims; Fullarton lay north of it. As he left the house he hesitated a moment. What if Barclay should call, as he often did, on his way to Fullarton and his wife should entrust him with the letter? Granny had been urgent in telling him to keep clear of the lawyer. But he laughed at his own doubt; for, with the worst intentions, how should Barclay know what it contained? What had he to do with it? The old woman’s dislike of him made her take absurd ideas into her head. Mrs. Somerville placed the letter where it could lean against the clock, and, when the front-door had shut behind him, she settled herself to a comfortable afternoon by the fire; beside her lay the materials for trimming a bonnet, and, within hand-stretch, a small table-cover under which she might hide them at the approach of company. As she had said to Lucilla, she ‘did not wish to get the name of trimming her own bonnets.’ Her mind was so full of the object on the mantelpiece that she did not hear a step on the stairs, and, greatly as she desired Barclay’s visit, when he was ushered in, she had temporarily forgotten his existence. The bonnet disappeared with a scuffle. ‘You are quite a stranger, I declare!’ she exclaimed when the lawyer had seated himself. ‘Of necessity, Mrs. Somerville--never of inclination. My time has been scarcely my own this week past.’ ‘And upon whom have you bestowed it, pray?’ ‘Have no fear, ma’am. My own sex is entirely responsible. And I have been making a slight alteration in my house; a trifle, but necessary. I am to lodge my friend Fordyce for the wedding and his best man is coming too--at least so he tells me. They are feather-brained, these young fellows.’ Mrs. Somerville’s knowledge was hot within her, and she turned over in her mind how she might begin to unfold it without committing herself. ‘It will not be a large affair,’ continued he, ‘no one but myself and Mr. Fullarton and a handful of Fordyce’s relatives; the bride makes as much pother about her bereavement as if it had happened yesterday. Lady Fordyce is not to be present. I think she has taken such a poor match very much to heart.’ ‘We were invited specially by Miss Raeburn,’ interposed the lady, who was not averse to playing a trump card when she had one. Cecilia had personally asked the Inspector to the kirk, and had, perforce, made up her mind to the natural consequence in the shape of his wife; he had been Gilbert’s friend and she felt that his presence would help her through the ordeal. ‘Then you will be of the bride’s party,’ observed Barclay, looking superior. ‘Yes,’ replied Mrs. Somerville, settling herself snugly against the back of her chair, ‘we shall--if there is any bride at all.’ He looked at her interrogatively. ‘I said, _if there is any bride at all_, Mr. Barclay; and for that matter, I may add, _if there is any wedding either._’