"Now that is really unfair," said Mrs. Ross, seriously. "Mr. White is
not a rich man, but he has some small means that render him quite
independent of any income of his daughter's. Why, how did they live
before they ever thought of letting her try her fortune on the stage?
And the money he spent, when it was at last decided she should be
carefully taught--"

"Oh, very well," said Miss Rawlinson, with a smile; but she nodded her
head ominously. If that old man was not actually living on his
daughter's earnings, he had at least strangled his mother, or robbed the
Bank of England, or done something or other. Miss Rawlinson was
obviously not well disposed either to Mr. White or to his daughter.

At this very moment both these persons made their appearance, and
certainly, as this slender and graceful figure, clad in a pale summer
costume, came across the lawn, and as a smile of recognition lit up the
intelligent fine face, these critics sitting there must have
acknowledged that Gertrude White was a singularly pretty woman. And then
the fascination of that low-toned voice! She began to explain to Macleod
why they were so late: some trifling accident had happened to Carry. But
as these simple, pathetic tones told him the story, his heart was filled
with a great gentleness and pity towards that poor victim of misfortune.
He was struck with remorse because he had sometimes thought harshly of
the poor child on account of a mere occasional bit of pertness. His
first message from the Highlands would be to her.

"O, Willie brew'd a peck o'maut,"

the band played merrily, as the gay company took their seats at the long