“It’s very true,” said Bell, with a grave countenance, “that it’s bonnie weather; and when they were here last, in September, we had nothing but wind and rain; but for a’ that, when ladies have made their plans, it’s a great deal of trouble to change them, and it’s aye in September they come. Do you no think, Sir Ludovic, they would like it better if you let them come at their ain time?” “Do you suppose they would think it a trouble, Bell?” Sir Ludovic had written his letter as a matter of duty for his little Peggy’s sake; but he was not disinclined to get out of it, to allow a feasible reason for not sending it, if such a one should present itself; for he did not anticipate the arrival of his daughters with any pleasure. “Weel, Sir Ludovic, you see they’ve all their plans made. They’re awfu’ leddies for plans. You ken yoursel’ it’s a’ laid out every day what they’re to do; and Mrs. Bellingham, she canna bide being put out o’ her way.” “That’s true, Bell, that’s very true,” said Sir Ludovic, suddenly remembering how his eldest daughter received any interference with her projects. “I am very glad you reminded me,” said the old man; “after all, perhaps, I had better let things take their course. I thought it might be better, whatever happened, to have them here; but, as you say, Jean does not like any interference with-- I think I will keep my letter to myself, after all.” “And nothing’s going to happen that I ken of, Sir Ludovic. We are all in our ordinar.” “That is very true, too,” he said, with a smile; “and now you can go away and tell John to bring me my wine and my biscuit. The doctor and you together have wasted my morning.” He drew his book toward him again as he dismissed her. This was the only “good sign” that Bell saw in her master; and her face was so grave when she went down-stairs that John paused in his preparation for his master’s simple luncheon with a sombre triumph. “Aweel? You’ll not tell me I’m an auld fule again,” John said. “Then I’ll tell you you’re an auld raven, a prophet o’ evil,” said his wife, with vehemence. “Gang up the stairs this moment and gie the maister his drop o’ wine; he’s crying for that and his biscuit, and there he might sit, and you never take the trouble to gang near him. Oh ay!” said Bell, dreamily--“oh ay! The bairn divined it, and the auld man saw it, and the doctor sees it too, though he winna say sae; and Bell’s the last to ken! In our ordinar, just in our ordinar! but them that has een can see the end.”