very few months, “showed a great deal of feeling and consideration.”  But as their minds never maintained a just equilibrium long upon any subject, but, like falsely adjusted scales, were ever hovering and vibrating at either extreme, so they could not rest satisfied in the belief that Mary was to be happy; there must be something to counteract that stilling sentiment; and that was the apprehension that Mary would be spoilt.  This, for the present, was the pendulum of their imaginations.

“I declare, Mary, my sisters and I could get no sleep last night for thinking of you,” said Miss Grizzy; "we are all certain that Lady Juliana especially, but indeed all your English relations, will think so much of you—­from not knowing you, you know—­which will be quite natural.  I’m sure that my sisters and I have taken it into our heads—­but I hope it won’t be the case, as you have a great deal of good sense of your own—­that they will quite turn your head.”

“Mary’s head is on her shoulders to little purpose,” followed up Miss Jacky, “if she can’t stand being made of when she goes amongst strangers; and she ought to know by this time that a mother’s partiality is no proof of a child’s merit.”

“You hear that, Mary,” rejoined Miss Grizzy; “so I’m sure I hope you won’t mind a word that your mother says to you, I mean about yourself; for of course you know she can’t be such a good judge of you as us, who have known you all your life.  As to other things, I daresay she is very well informed about the country, and politics, and these sort of things—­I’m certain Lady Juliana knows a great deal.”

“And I hope, Mary, you will take care and not get into the daadlin’ handless ways of the English women,” said Miss Nicky; “I wouldn’t give a pin for an Englishwoman.”

“And I hope you will never look at an Englishman, Mary,” said Miss Grizzy, with equal earnestness; “take my word for it they are a very dissipated, unprincipled set.  They all drink, and game, and keep race-horses; and many of them, I’m told, even keep play-actresses; so you may think what it would be for all of us if you were to marry any of them,”—­and tears streamed from the good spinster’s eyes at the bare supposition of such a calamity.

“Don’t be afraid, my dear aunt,” said Mary, with a kind caress; “I shall come back to you your own ‘Highland Mary.’  No Englishman with his round face and trim meadows shall ever captivate me.  Heath covered hills and high cheek-bones are the charms that must win my heart.”

“I’m delighted to hear you say so, my dear Mary,” said the literal-minded Grizzy.  “Certainly nothing can be prettier than the heather when it’s in flower; and there is something very manly—­nobody can dispute that—­in high cheek-bones; and besides, to tell you a secret, Lady Maclaughlan has a husband in her eye for you.  We none of us can conceive who it is, but of course he must be suitable in every respect; for you know Lady Maclaughlan has had three husbands herself; so of course she must be an excellent judge of a good husband.”