“If Dora likes to do fancy work I don’t see why anybody should want to stop her,” remarked Mrs Murchison, with a meaning glance at her husband.

“I suppose she thinks she’s going to get Lorne,” said Stella.  Her resentment was only half-serious, but the note was there.

“What put that into your head?” asked her mother.

“Oh, well, anybody can see that he’s devoted to her, and has been for ages, and it isn’t as if Lorne was one to have girlfriends; she’s absolutely the only thing he’s ever looked at twice.  She hasn’t got a ring, that’s true, but it would be just like her to want him to get it in England.  And I know they correspond.  She doesn’t make any secret of it.”

“Oh, I dare say!  Other people have eyes in their head as well as you, Stella,” said Mrs Murchison, stooping for her ball.  “But there’s no need to take things for granted at such a rate.  And, above all, you’re not to go talking, remember!”

“Well, if you think Dora Milburn’s good enough,” returned Lorne’s youngest sister in threatening accents, “it’s more than I do, that’s all.  Hello, Miss Murchison!” she continued, as Advena appeared.  “You’re looking ’xtremely dinky-dink.  Expecting his reverence?”

Advena made no further reply than a look of scornful amusement, which Stella, bicycling forth again, received in the back of her head.

“Father,” said Mrs Murchison, “if you had taken any share in the bringing up of this family, Stella ought to have her ears boxed this minute!”

“We’ll have to box them,” said Mr Murchison, “when she comes back.”  Advena had retreated into the house.  “Is she expecting his reverence?” asked her father with a twinkle.

“Don’t ask me!  I’m sure it’s more than I can tell you.  It’s a mystery to me, that matter, altogether.  I’ve known him come three evenings in a week and not again for a month of Sundays.  And when he does come there they sit, talking about their books and their authors; you’d think the world had nothing else in it!  I know, for I’ve heard them, hard at it, there in the library.  Books and authors won’t keep their house or look after their family for them; I can tell them that, if it does come to anything, which I hope it won’t.”

“Finlay’s fine in the pulpit,” said John Murchison cautiously.

“Oh, the man’s well enough; it’s him I’m sorry for.  I don’t call Advena fitted to be a wife, and last of all a minister’s.  Abby was a treasure for any man to get, and Stella won’t turn out at all badly; she’s taking hold very well for her age.  But Advena simply hasn’t got it in her, and that’s all there is to say about it.”  Mrs Murchison pulled her needles out right side out with finality.  “I don’t deny the girl’s talented in her own way, but it’s no way to marry on.  She’d much better make up her mind just to be a happy independent old maid; any woman might do worse.  And take no responsibilities.”