Tom laid the blame to the
share of Arthur; Arthur and Constance to the share of Hamish. To whom
Hamish laid it, was only known to himself.
He, Hamish, rose as the tea-things were carried away. He was preparing
for a visit to Mr. Huntley's. His visits there, as already remarked,
had not been frequent of late. He had discovered that he was not
welcome to Mr. Huntley. And Hamish Channing was not one to thrust his
company upon any one: even the attraction of Ellen could not induce
that. But it is very probable that he was glad of the excuse Mr.
Channing's letter afforded him to go there now.
He found Miss Huntley alone; a tall, stiff lady, who always looked as
if she were cased in whalebone. She generally regarded Hamish with some
favour, which was saying a great deal for Miss Huntley.
"You are quite a stranger here," she remarked to him as he entered.
"I think I am," replied Hamish. "Mr. Huntley is still in the
dining-room, I hear?"
"Mr. Huntley is," said the lady, speaking as if the fact did not give
her pleasure, though Hamish could not conceive why. "My niece has
chosen to remain with him," she added, in a tone which denoted
dissatisfaction. "I am quite _tired_ of talking to her! I tell her this
is proper, and the other is improper, and she goes and mixes up my
advice in the most extraordinary way; leaving undone what she ought to
do, and doing what I tell her she ought not! Only this very morning I
read her a sermon upon 'Propriety, and the fitness of things.
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