Charley's auburn curls had grown again, and Charley himself
was in better condition than when he arrived from his impromptu
excursion. For grandeur, no one could approach Miss Huntley; her
brocade silk stood on end, stiff, prim, and stately as herself. Judy,
in her way, was stately too; a curiously-fine lace cap on her head,
which had not been allowed to see the light since Charley's
christening, with a large white satin bow in front, almost as large as
the cap itself. And that was no despicable size.
The only one who did not behave with a due regard to what might be
expected of him, was Hamish--grievous as it is to have to record it. It
had been duly impressed upon Hamish that he was to conduct Miss Huntley
in to breakfast, etiquette and society consigning that lady to his
share. Mr. Hamish, however, chose to misconstrue instructions in the
most deplorable manner. He left Miss Huntley, a prey to whomsoever
might pick her up, and took in Miss Ellen. It might have passed,
possibly, but for Annabel, who appeared as free and unconcerned that
important morning as at other times.
"Hamish, that's wrong! It is Miss Huntley you are to take in; not
Ellen."
Hamish had grown suddenly deaf. He walked on with Ellen, leaving
confusion to right itself. Arthur stepped up in the dilemma, and the
tips of Miss Huntley's white-gloved fingers were laid upon his arm. It
would take her some time to forgive Hamish, favourite though he was.
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