"Could he by any means
have had the banns cried?" she demanded of Christie, who
looked piercingly at their visitor for the answer.
"Oh, no," Advena laughed softly. "Presbyterians haven't
that custom over here--does it still exist anywhere? Mr
Finlay told me himself."
"Has he informed all his acquaintances?" asked Mrs
Kilbannon. "We thought maybe his elders would be expecting
to hear, or his Board of Management. Or he might have
just dropped a word to his Sessions Clerk. But--"
Advena shook her head. "I think it unlikely," she said.
"Then why would he be telling you?" inquired the elder
lady, bluntly.
"He told me, I suppose, because I have the honour to be
a friend of his," Advena said, smiling. "But he is not
a man, is he, who makes many friends? It is possible, I
dare say, that he has mentioned it to no one else."
Poor Advena! She had indeed uttered her ideal to
unsympathetic ears--brought her pig, as her father would
have said, to the wrong market. She sat before the ladies
from Bross, Hugh Finlay's only confidante. She sat handsome
and upheld and not altogether penetrable, a kind of gipsy
to their understanding, though indeed the Romany strain
in her was beyond any divining of theirs. They, on their
part, reposed in their clothes with all their bristles
out--what else could have been expected of them?--
convinced in their own minds that they had come not only
to a growing but to a forward country.
Pages:
335
336
337
338
339
340
341
342
343
344
345
346
347
348
349
350
351
352
353
354
355
356
357
358
359