‘I despise gossip, as you know,’ she stammered; ‘indeed, I always said--I always say--if there’s anything unkind, do not bring it to _me;_ and I said--what does it matter to _me?_ I said--his poor mother is dead and buried, and if there _is_ anything discreditable----’ Miss Hersey rose from the sofa, and turned to her sister. ‘Come, Caroline, it is time we went home. Ma’am,’ she said, curtseying as deeply as her age would permit to the astonished Mrs. Somerville, ‘we have outstayed your good manners. I have the honour to wish you a good-evening.’ The Misses Robertson’s house stood barely a hundred yards from that of Captain Somerville, so Miss Hersey had decided that the coach which was usually hired when they went abroad was unnecessary; the maidservant who was to have presented herself to escort them home had not arrived when they put on their cloaks, so they went out alone into the moonlit street. ‘What was that she was saying, Hersey?’ inquired Miss Caroline, as she clung to her sister’s arm, rather bewildered by her situation, but accepting it simply. ‘Mrs. Somerville is no gentlewoman, sister. She was bold enough to bring up some ill talk to which I have never been willing to listen.’ ‘That was very wrong--very wrong,’ said Miss Caroline. Miss Hersey was murmuring to herself. ‘Discreditable?’ she was saying--‘discreditable? The impertinence!’ CHAPTER VI THE DOVECOT OF MORPHIE THE vehicle used by Captain Somerville on his tours of inspection was standing in the Whanland coach-house; it was an uncommon-looking concern, evolved from his own brain and built by local talent. The body was hung low, with due regard to the wooden leg of its owner, and the large permanent hood which covered it faced backwards instead of forwards, so that, when driving in the teeth of bad weather, the Captain might retire to its shelter, with a stout plaid to cover his person and his snuffbox to solace it. This carriage was made to convey four people--two underneath the hood and one in front on a seat beside the coachman. On fine days the sailor would drive himself, defended by the Providence that watches over his profession; for he was a poor whip. It was a soft night, fresh and moist; the moon, almost at the full, was invisible, and only the dull light which pervaded everything suggested her presence behind the clouds. Captain Somerville, sitting with Gilbert over his wine at the dining-room table, was enjoying a pleasant end to his day; for Speid, knowing that his inspection work would bring him to the neighbourhood of Whanland, had delayed his own dinner till a comparatively late hour, and invited the old gentleman to step aside and share it before returning to Kaims. A sound behind him made the younger man turn in his chair and meet the eyes of Macquean, who had entered. ‘Stirk’s wantin’ you,’ he announced, speaking to his master, but looking sideways at Captain Somerville. ‘Tell him to wait,’ said Gilbert; ‘I will see him afterwards.’