Carry. "A Highland pauper! But you are
quite right, Gerty, to laugh at the rumor. Of course it is quite
ridiculous. It is quite ridiculous to think that an actress whose fame
is all over England--who is sought after by everybody, and the
popularest favorite ever seen--would give up everything and go away and
marry an ignorant Highland savage, and look after his calves and his
cows and hens for him. That is indeed ridiculous, Gerty."

"Very well, then, put it out of your mind; and never let me hear another
word about it," said the popularest favorite, as she undid the bit of
tartan ribbon; "and if it is any great comfort to you to know, this is
not the Macleod tartan but the MacDougal tartan, and you may put it in
the fire if you like."

Saying which, she threw the bit of costume which had given so great
offence on the table. The discomfited Carry looked at it, but would not
touch it. At last she said,

"Where are the skins, Gerty?"

"Near Castle Dare," answered Miss White, turning to get something else
for her neck; "there is a steep hill, and the road comes over it. When
you climb to the top of the hill and sit down, the fairies will carry
you right to the bottom if you are in a proper frame of mind. But they
won't appear at all unless you are at peace with all men. I will show
you the skins when you are in a proper frame of mind, Carry."

"Who told you that story?" she asked quickly.

"Sir Keith Macleod," the elder sister said, without thinking.

"Then he has been writing to you?"

"Certainly."

She marched out of the room. Gertrude White, unconscious of the fierce
rage she had aroused, carelessly proceeded with her toilet, trying now
one flower and now another in the ripples of her sun-brown hair, but
finally discarding these half-withered things for a narrow band of blue
velvet.

"Threescore o' nobles rode up the king's ha',"

she was humming thoughtlessly to herself as she stood with her hands
uplifted to her head, revealing the beautiful lines of her figure,

"But Bonnie Glenogie's the flower o' them a';
Wi' his milk-white steed and his coal-black e'e:
Glenogie, dear mither, Glenogie for me!"

At length she had finished, and was ready to proceed to her immediate
work of overhauling domestic affairs. When Keith Macleod was struck by
the exceeding neatness and perfection of arrangement in this small
house, he was in nowise the victim of any stage-effect. Gertrude White
was at all