Elizabeth looked across to where Kirsty sat beside a thin little clergyman, and noticed she looked rather unusually nice. She was not only more carefully dressed, but her face looked different; not so sallow, almost as though it had been lit up from inside. "Kirsty looks very well," she said, "very happy. Has anything specially nice happened?" "_She's just got engaged to the minister beside her,_" Mrs. Christie whispered hoarsely. The whisper penetrated through the room, and Kirsty and her fiancé blushed deeply. "Kirsty! _Engaged!_" gasped Elizabeth. "Well," said her mother, "I don't wonder you're surprised. I was myself. Somehow I never thought Kirsty would marry, but you never know; and he's a nice wee man, and asks very kindly after my bronchitis--he's inclined to be asthmatic himself, and that makes a difference. He hasn't got a church yet; that's a pity, for he's been out a long time, but Mr. Christie'll do his best for him. _He's mebbe not a very good preacher._" Again she whispered, to her companion's profound discomfort. "I am sure he is," Elizabeth said firmly. "_He's nothing to look at, and appearances go a long way._" "Oh! please don't; he hears you," Elizabeth implored, holding Mrs. Christie's hand to make her stop. "He looks very nice. What is his name?" "Haven't I told you? Andrew Hamilton, and he's _three years younger than Kirsty_." "That doesn't matter at all. I do hope they will be very happy. Dear old Kirsty!" "Yes," said Mrs. Christie, "but we can't look forward. We know not what a day may bring forth--nor an hour either, for that matter. Just last night I got up to ring the bell in the dining-room--I wanted Janet to bring me a hot-water bottle for my feet--and before I knew I had fallen over the coal-scuttle, and Janet had to carry me back to the sofa. I felt quite solemnised to think how quickly trouble would come. No, no, we can't look forward----Well, well, here's Mr. M'Cann. Don't go away, Elizabeth; _I can't bear the man!_" Again that fell whisper, which, however, was drowned in the noise that Mr. Christie and the new-comer made in greeting each other. Mr. M'Cann was a large man with thick hands. He was an ardent politician and the idol of a certain class of people. He boasted that he was a self-made man, though to a casual observer the result hardly seemed a subject for pride. He came up to his hostess and began to address her as if she were a large (and possibly hostile) audience. Mrs. Christie shrank farther into her shawl and looked appealingly at Elizabeth, who would fain have fled to the other side of the room, where Arthur Townshend, with his monocle screwed tightly into his eye, was sitting looking as lonely as if he were on a peak in Darien, though the son of the house addressed to him a condescending remark now and again. Mr. M'Cann spoke with a broad West Country accent. He said it helped him to get nearer the Heart of the People.