She spoke of “poor dear Bessie,” with such affection as was implied in “Oh, she was such a darling!  I got on with her immensely.  Why didn’t you send to me, though I don’t know that Donald would have let me come,” and she insisted on learning the whole history, illustrating it profusely with personal experiences.  Rachel was constantly hoping to be released from a subject so intensely painful; but curiosity prevailed through the chatter, and kept hold of the thread of the story.  Mrs. Menteith decidedly thought herself defrauded of a summons.  “It was very odd of them all not to telegraph for me.  Those telegrams are such a dreadful shock.  There came one just as I set out from Timber End, and I made sure little Sandie was ill at home, for you know the child is very delicate, and there are so many things going about, and what with all this dreadful business, I was ready to faint, and after all it was only a stupid thing for Uncle Colin from those people at Avoncester.”

“You do not know what it was?”

“Somebody was convicted or acquitted, I forget which, but I know it had something to do with Uncle Colin’s journey to Russia; so ridiculous of him at his age, when he ought to know better, and so unlucky for all the family, his engagement to that swindler’s sister.  By-the-bye, did he not cheat you out of ever so much money?”

“Oh, that had nothing to do with it—­it was not Miss Williams’s brother—­it was not he that was tried.”

“Wasn’t he?  I thought he was found guilty or something; but it is very unfortunate for the family, for Uncle Colin won’t give her up, though she is a terrible cripple, too.  And to tell you a secret, it was his obstinacy that made papa marry again; and now it is of no use, this poor little fellow will never live, and this sharper’s sister will be Lady Keith after all!  So unlucky!  Papa says she is very handsome, and poor Bessie declares she is quite ladylike.”

“The most superior person I ever knew,” said Rachel, indignantly.

“Ah, yes, of course she must be very clever and artful if her brother is a swindler.”

“But indeed he is not, he was cheated; the swindler was Maddox.”

“Oh, but he was a glass-blower, or something, I know, and her sister is a governess.  I am sure it is no fault of mine!  The parties I gave to get him and Jessie Douglas together!  Donald was quite savage about the bills.  And after all Uncle Colin went and caught cold, and would not come!  I would not have minded half so much if it had been Jessie Douglas; but to have her at Gowanbrae—­a glass-blower’s daughter—­isn’t it too bad?”

“Her father was a clergyman of a good Welsh family.”

“Was he?  Then her brother or somebody had something to do with glass.”

Attempts at explanation were vain, the good lady had an incapacity of attention, and was resolved on her grievance.  She went away at last because “those horrid doctors will be gone now, and I will be able to see poor papa, and tell him when I will take home the baby, though I don’t believe he will live to be taken anywhere, poor dear little man.”