Jeanie! Rob did not budge. It was the commonest of names; there was nothing in it to rouse his special attention. And even if he had known that it was the one Jeanie with whom he had some concern, would that have made any difference? He worked on quite calmly. But Jeanie withdrew in haste, with a pang for which she could not account. She had seen and heard, by the sound of the voices, that something was said between them; but Rob never looked up to see who it was of whom Miss Margaret spoke. When Jeanie came back to peep again, they were sitting together at the little luncheon Bell had sent them, with much talking and soft laughter, sharing the same meal, and reminding each of humbler picnic meals eaten together in other years. As they grew more at ease with each other, the doubtful taste of Rob’s compliments ceased to offend Margaret; or perhaps in the greater intimacy of this odd conjunction, so absolutely free, yet so entirely under restraint, public to all the watchful eyes that guarded her, there was something that made him avoid compliments. There is always much that is suggestive in a meal thus shared by two, with no intrusive third to break its completeness. A certain romance infolds the laughing pair; the very matter-of-fact character of the conjunction, the domesticity, the homeliness, increase their sense of union. It suggests everything that is in life. The boy and girl over their “piece,” the youth and the maiden over their impromptu repast: what was it but playing at honey-mooning, a pleasant mockery, or essay at, or caricature of, the most serious conjunction? Even Margaret felt a certain half delightful shyness of her companion in this odd union, free as her mind was of all embarrassing thoughts; and as for Rob, the suggestion gave him a thrill of pride and pleasure not to be put into words. Jeanie stole to the window to look at them again, while they were thus engaged, and the sight went to her heart. “If I were you, I wouldna let them bide ower lang philandering, they twa,” said John. “I’m no that sure that I would have left them there ava’. Like twa young marrit folk, the ane forenenst the ither--” “Haud your tongue, you ill-thinking man!” cried Bell, with a half-shriek. “How dare ye! But be a lassie the maist innocent that ever was born, ye’ll aye put it upon her that she kens as muckle as yoursel’.” “It’s no what she kens I’m thinking o’: it’s a’ instinck,” said John. “A lad and a lass--they’re drawn to ane anither; it’s nature. I wish it was a gentleman that had come this gate instead o’ that laud. Plenty gentlemen waste their time drawing pictures. There’s Sir Claude; he’s auld and a married man? I kent you would say that. Was I meaning Sir Claude? but he aye has his house fu’ o’ his ain kind; or even if it had been Randal Burnside--yon’s a lad that will rise in the world; but whatever evil spirit sent us Rob Glen--” “John, my man, you’re no an ill man, and if you’ll haud to the things ye understand--”