Part 19 (1/2)

Jess's experience as a maid to her ladys.h.i.+p has stood her in good stead. She had a fineness of build which even the housework of a farm could not coa.r.s.en. Besides, Winsome considered Jess delicate, and did not allow her to lift anything really heavy. So it happened that when Ralph Peden came Jess was putting the fresh flowers in the great bowls of low relief chinaware--roses from the garden and sprays of white hawthorn, which flowers late in Galloway, blue hyacinths and harebells ma.s.sed together--yellow marigolds and glorious scarlet poppies, of which Jess with her taste of the savage was pa.s.sionately fond. She had arranged some of these against a pale blue background of bunches of forget-me- nots, with an effect strangely striking in that cool, dusky room.

When Jess came in Ralph had risen instinctively. He shook hands heartily with her. As she looked up at him, she said:

”Do you remember me?”

Ralph replied with an eager frankness, all the more marked that he had expected Winsome instead of Jess Kissock: ”Indeed, how could I forget, when you helped me to carry my books that night? I am glad to find you here. I had no idea that you lived here.”

Which was indeed true, for he had not yet been able to grasp the idea that any but Winsome lived at Craig Ronald.

Jess Kissock, who knew that not many moments were hers before Meg might come in, replied:

”I am here to help with the house. Meg Kissock is my sister.” She looked to see if there was anything in Ralph's eyes she could resent; but a son of the Marrow kirk had not been trained to respect of persons.

”I am sure you will help very much,” he said, politely.

”I'm not as strong as my sister, you see, so that I'm generally in the house,” said Jess, who was carrying two dishes of flowers at once across the room. At Ralph's feet one of them overset, and poured all its wealth of blue and white and splashed crimson over the floor.

Jess stooped to lift them, crying shame on her own awkwardness.

Ralph kindly a.s.sisted her. As they stooped to gather them together, Jess put forward all her attractions. Her lithe grace never showed to more advantage. Yet, for all the impression she made on Ralph, she might as well have wasted her sweetness on Jock Gordon--indeed, better so, for Jock recognized in her something strangely kin to his own wayward spirit.

When the flowers were all gathered and put back:

”Now you shall have one for helping,” said Jess, as she had once seen a lady in England do, and she selected a dark-red, velvety damask rose from the wealth which she had cut and brought out of the garden. Standing on tiptoe, she could scarcely reach his b.u.t.ton-hole.

”Bend down,” she said. Obediently Ralph bent, good-humouredly patient, to please this girl who had done him a good turn on that day which now seemed so far away--the day that had brought Craig Ronald and Winsome into his life.

But in spite of his stooping, Jess had some difficulty in pinning in the rose, and in order to steady herself on tiptoe, she reached up and laid a staying hand on his shoulder. As he bent down, his face just touched the crisp fringes of her dark hair, which seemed a strange thing to him.

But a sense of another presence in the room caused him to raise his eyes, and there in the doorway stood Winsome Charteris, looking so pale and cold that she seemed to be a thousand miles away.

”I bid you good-afternoon, Master Peden,” said Winsome quietly; ”I am glad you have had time to come and visit my grandmother. She will be glad to see you.”

For some moments Ralph had no words to answer. As for Jess, she did not even colour; she simply withdrew with the quickness and feline grace which were characteristic of her, without a flush or a tremor. It was not on such occasions that her heart stirred.

When she was gone she felt that things had gone well, even beyond her expectation.

When Ralph at last found his voice, he said somewhat falteringly, yet with a ring of honesty in his voice which for the time being was lost upon Winsome:

”You are not angry with me for coming to-day. You knew I would come, did you not?”

Winsome only said: ”My grandmother is waiting for me. You had better go in at once.”

”Winsome,” said Ralph, trying to prolong the period of his converse with her, ”you are not angry with me for writing what I did?”

Winsome thought that he was referring to the poem which had come to her by way of Manse Bell and Saunders Mowdiewort. She was indignant that he should try to turn the tables upon her and so make her feel guilty.

”I received nothing that I had any right to keep,” she said.

Ralph was silent. The blow was a complete one. She did not wish him to write to her any more or to speak to her on the old terms of friends.h.i.+p. He thought wholly of the letter that he had sent by Saunders the day before, and her coldness and changed att.i.tude were set down by him to that cause, and not to the embarra.s.sing position in which Winsome had surprised him when she came into the flower-strewn parlour. He did not know that the one thing a woman never really forgives is a false position, and that even the best of women in such cases think the most unjust things. Winsome moved towards the inner door of her grandmother's room.