yourself, and Christina. I promise you that."
"If you intend to make many alterations in the house, you will have to see about them at once," said Mrs. Campbell.
"To-morrow I shall send men to remove all the old furniture from the rooms I intend to decorate."
"To remove it! Where to?"
"To Bailey's auction rooms."
"Robert Campbell! Your poor, dear father's rooms, and he not gone two years yet!"
"To-morrow will be nine days short of the two years. Do you wish his rooms to remain untouched for nine days longer, mother?"
"It is no matter. Let his lounge, and his chair and his bagatelle board go—let all go! The dead, as well as the living, must make way for Theodora."
"And, mother, as the hall will be entirely changed, and there will be much traffic through it, you had better remove early in the morning those huge glass cases of impaled insects and butterflies. If you wish to keep them, take them to your rooms; if not, let them go to Bailey's."
"They may as well go with the rest. Your father valued them highly in this life, but——"
"They are the most lugubrious, sorrowful objects. They make me shudder. How could any one imagine they were ornamental?"
"Your father thought them to be very curious and instructive, and they cost a great deal of money."
"If during the night you remember any changes you would like to make, we can discuss them in the morning," said Robert.
He went out gaily, and as he closed the door, began to sing:
"My love is like a red, red rose, That's newly blown in June; My Love is like a melody, That's sweetly played in tune."
Then the library shut in the singer and the song, and all was silence.
Mrs. Campbell did not speak, and Isabel looked at her with a kind of contemptuous pity. She thought her mother had but lamely defended her position, and was sure she could have done it more effectively. Christina was simply interested. There was really something going to happen, and as far as she could see, the change in the house would bring other changes still more important. She was satisfied, and she looked at her silent mother and sister impatiently. Why did they not say something?
At length Mrs. Campbell rose from the sofa, and began to walk slowly up and down the room, and with motion came speech.
"I think, Isabel," she said, "I signified my opinions and desires plainly enough to your brother."
"You spoke with your usual wisdom and clearness, mother."
"Do you think Robert understood that I consider this house my house, and that I intend to be mistress in it? Why, girls, your father made me mistress here more than thirty-seven years ago. That ought to be enough for Robert."
"Robert is now in father's place," said Christina.
"Robert cannot take from me what your father gave me. This house is morally mine, and always will be, while I choose to urge my claim. I am not going to be put to the wall by two lovesick fools. No, indeed!"
"I think Robert showed himself very wise for his own—and Theodora's interests; and he would refute your moral claim, I assure you, mother, without one qualm of conscience."
"Refute me! He might as well try to refute the Bass rock. A mother is irrefutable, Isabel! But his conduct will necessitate us all using a deal of diplomacy. You do not require to be told why, or how, at the present time. I have a forecasting mind, and I can see how things are going to happen, but just now, we must keep a calm sound in all our observes, for the man is in the burning fever of an uncontrollable love, and clean off his reason—on the subject of that Englishwoman, he is mad entirely."
"I wonder what Dr. Robertson, and the Kirk, and people in general, will say?"
"What they will say to our faces is untelling, Isabel; what they will say when we are not bodily present, it is easy to surmise. Every one will consider Robert Campbell totally beyond his senses. He is. That creature in a place called Kendal, has bewitched him. As you well know, the prime and notable quality of Robert Campbell was, that he could make money, and especially save money. He always, in this respect, reminded me of his grandfather, whom every one called 'Old Economy.' Now, what is he doing? Squandering money on every hand! Expensive journeys for the sole end of love-making, expensive presents no doubt, half of Traquair House redecorated and refurnished, wedding expenses coming on, honeymoon expenses; goodness only knows what else will be emptying the purse. And for whom? An Englishwoman, a Methodist, a poor school-teacher. She will neither be to hold nor to bind in her own expenses; for coming to Traquair House will be to her like entering a superior state of existence, and she won't know how to carry herself in it. We may take that to be a certainty. But I think I can teach her! Yes, I think I can teach her!"
"How will you do it, mother?"
"I cannot exactly specify now. She will give me the points, and opportunities; and correcting, and advising, come most effectively from the passing events of daily life. As I said, she will give me plenty of occasions or I'm no judge of women—especially brides."
"You might be flustered if you were in a hurry and unprepared, mother, and miss points of advantage, or get more than you gave, but if you had a plan thought out——"
"No, no, Isabel! I have lived long enough to learn the wisdom of building my wall with the stones I find at the foot of it."
"Many a sore heart the poor thing will get!" said Christina, with an air of mock pity.
"We cannot say too much or go too far, while Robert is as daft in love as he is at present," continued Mrs. Campbell. "We must be cautious, and that is the good way—the bit-by-bitness is what tells; now a look, now a word, now a hint, there a suspicion, there a worriment, there a hesitation or a doubt. It is the bit-by-bitness tells! This is a forgetful world, so I mention this fact again. And remember also, that men are the most uncertain part of creation. I have known Robert Campbell thirty years and I have just found him out. He is a curious creature, is Robert. He thinks himself steady as the hills, but in reality he is just as unstable as water. Good-night, girls! We will go for our sleep now, though I'm doubting if we get any."
"Theodora won't keep me awake," said Christina. Isabel did not speak then, but as they stood a moment at their bedroom doors, she said: "Mother is not to be trifled with. She is going to make Theodora trouble enough. I'm telling you."
"I don't care if she does! Anything for a change. Good-night!"
"Good-night! I do not expect to sleep."
"Perfect nonsense! Why should you keep awake for a woman in Kendal? Shut your eyes and forget her. Or dream that she brings you a husband."
"I'll do no such thing. That's a likely story!" and the two doors shut softly to the denial, and Christina's low laugh at it.
When the three women came down to breakfast in the morning, they found a dozen men at work dismantling the hall and the rooms on the north side of the house. The glass cases of insects and butterflies, and the old-fashioned engravings of Sir Robert Peel, Lord Derby, the Duke of Wellington, and Queen Victoria's marriage ceremony were just leaving the house. Mrs. Campbell, walking in her most stately manner, approached the foreman and began to give him some orders. He listened impatiently a few moments, and then answered with small courtesy:
"I have my written directions, ma'am, from the master, and I shall follow them to the letter. There is no use in you bothering and interfering," and with the last word on his lips, he turned from her to address some of his workmen.
She looked at him in utter amazement and speechless anger; then with an apparent haughty indifference, turned into the breakfast-room bringing the word "interfering" with her, and flavoring every remark she made with it. She was in a white heat of passion, and really felt herself to have been insulted beyond all pacification. Isabel had been a little in advance, and had