That might have been enough to set her suspicions off."
"Or I was thinking maybe, sir, it was when her ladyship heard of the engagement."
"Ah!" exclaimed Ned, stopping suddenly again, "that's possible. When did she hear?"
Bisset shook his head.
"That beats me again, sir. Her own maid likely has been telling her things the time we've not been seeing her."
"Did the maid—or did you know about the engagement?"
"Servants are uneducated creatures," said Bisset contemptuously. "And women at the best have just the ae' thought—who's gaun to be fool enough to marry next? They were always gossiping about Mr. Malcolm and Miss Cicely, but there was never what I should call a data to found a deduction on; not for a sensible person. I never believed it myself, but it's like enough her ladyship may have suspected it for a while back."
"I suppose Lady Cromarty has been nearly distracted?"
"Very near, sir."
"That's her only excuse. But the story is such obvious nonsense, Bisset, that surely no one in their proper senses really believes it?"
The philosopher shook a wise head.
"I have yet to learn, Mr. Cromarty, what folks will not believe."
"They've got to stop believing this!" said Ned emphatically.
