She was turning away again, with a quiet smile on her face, when her younger sister arrested her.

“What’s that?” said she, so sharply, and extending her forefinger so suddenly, that Gertrude almost shrank back.

“What’s what?” she said, in dismay—­fearing, perhaps, to hear of an adder being on her shoulder.

“You know perfectly well,” said Miss Carry, vehemently, “it is the Macleod tartan!”

Now the truth was that Miss White’s travelling-dress was of an unrelieved gray; the only scrap of color about her costume being a tiny thread of tartan ribbon that just showed in front of her collar.

“The Macleod tartan?” said the eldest sister, demurely.  “And what if it were the Macleod tartan?”

“You ought to be ashamed of yourself, Gerty!  There was quite enough occasion for people to talk in the way he kept coming here; and now you make a parade of it; you ask people to look at you wearing a badge of servitude—­you say, ’Oh, here I am; and I am quite ready to be your wife when you ask me, Sir Keith Macleod!’”

There was no flush of anger in the fair and placid face; but rather a look of demure amusement in the downcast eyes.

“Dear me, Carry!” said she, with great innocence, “the profession of an actress must be looking up in public estimation when such a rumor as that could even get into existence.  And so people have been so kind as to suggest that Sir Keith Macleod, the representative of one of the oldest and proudest families in the kingdom, would not be above marrying a poor actress who has her living to earn, and who is supported by the half-crowns and half-sovereigns of the public?  And indeed I think it would look very well to have him loitering about the stage-doors of provincial theatres until his wife should be ready to come out; and would he bring his gillies, and keepers, and head-foresters, and put them into the pit to applaud her?  Really, the role you have cut out for a Highland gentleman—­”

“A Highland gentleman!” exclaimed Carry.  “A Highland pauper!  But you are quite right, Gerty, to laugh at the rumor.  Of course it is quite ridiculous.  It is quite ridiculous to think that an actress whose fame is all over England—­who is sought after by everybody, and the popularest favorite ever seen—­would give up everything and go away and marry an ignorant Highland savage, and look after his calves and his cows and hens for him.  That is indeed ridiculous, Gerty.”

“Very well, then, put it out of your mind; and never let me hear another word about it,” said the popularest favorite, as she undid the bit of tartan ribbon; “and if it is any great comfort to you to know, this is not the Macleod tartan but the MacDougal tartan, and you may put it in the fire if you like.”

Saying which, she threw the bit of costume which had given so great offence on the table.  The discomfited Carry looked at it, but would not touch it.  At last she said,