When Mary found herself alone she sat down pensively in the big leather chair, feeling very sad and thoughtful. Of course she trusted Robert absolutely, but how could he really love such an ignorant little country girl like herself, when there were so many grand, rich, beautiful ladies surrounding him all the time and suing for his favors, even seeking him out in his own rooms? But her face brightened as she thought of what John had told her. “It isna’ his fault if the women lose their hearts over him,” he had said, and in her heart she felt she could not blame anyone for loving Robbie. She rose and softly approached his door. Then she paused. No, she would wait till he came and found her himself. But she did wish he would hurry and finish dressing before Mrs. Dunlop came back. She strolled aimlessly about the room looking with listless eyes at the collections of souvenirs and bric-a-brac which filled the mantels and covered the tables. She noted with wonder the profusion of ladies’ gloves, ’kerchief, scarfs, a slipper or two and a motley collection of other articles littering the table. She picked up a beautiful pink mask and idly turned it over; on the back she read, “Dropped by Lady Nancy at the Charity Ball given in honor of the Prince of Wales.” She put it down, her lips[173] trembling. He must prize it very highly, she thought with a pang of jealousy; but as she read the various inscriptions on the back of a number of the others, she smiled and told herself what a silly she was. Of course he couldn’t be in love with all the owners of those many favors. She picked up the mask again and held it before her eyes. How funny to cover one’s face in such a manner, she thought. She fastened the elastic behind her ear, and with a woman’s curiosity wondered how she looked in it. She quickly spied the large cheval mirror in the cabinet. “How funny I do look,” she said to herself with a little amused laugh, as she caught sight of her reflection. “Nobody would ever know me.” As she drew closer to the mirror in pleased wonder her dancing eyes slowly wandered from the top of the glittering coil of her golden hair, dwelt for an instant in blushing modesty on the gleaming, bare shoulders, and rested in loving, blissful content on her simple trailing robe of ivory-tinted embroidered silk. She looked angelically lovely as she stood there innocently admiring her winsome reflection. “Is that really the Highland Mary who used to wander barefooted through the glens and vales, the simple dairymaid who made butter for Colonel Montgomery?” she asked herself dreamily. “Am I awake, I wonder? How Souter Johnny would open his eyes if he could only see me noo in this[174] beautiful gown, carrying a fan an’ wi’ my hair done up high.” She laughed gleefully but softly at the thought. “Wouldna’ they be proud to see me such a grand lady.” She walked stiffly across the room with all the dignity she could command, her chin held high and taking quick little pleased glances over her shoulder at her reflection. It was Mary’s first long gown, and it was not to be wondered at, when in turning quickly around a chair she easily became entangled in her train, and with a little frightened gasp she suddenly found herself on her knees endeavoring to extricate her feet from the clinging mass of silk and linen in which they were enmeshed. Finally she succeeded in regaining her feet, but not until she had with extreme care seated herself did she breathe a sigh of relief. She eyed her train ruefully. “If I should fall doon before all the great people at the ball, I should be so ashamed,” she said, sighing dismally. “They would all laugh at me. But Robert says I am nicer than anyone in all the world.” She reveled in that thought an instant, then her face lengthened. “But I ken there is a difference, a great difference; I am only a simple country lass without any learnin’ whatever, while Lady Nancy is——” she rose suddenly as a thought occurred to her, her hands clasped tightly together. “Suppose he should grow ashamed of his ignorant little country wife,” she whispered with trembling lips; “it would break my heart in twain.”
[175]
She held out her hands passionately toward her unseen lover. “Ye willna’ ever regret makin’ me your wife, will ye dear?” she whispered imploringly. “Ye willna’ be sorry in years to come.” Quickly her loving, trustful faith reasserted itself. “Nay, nay, my heart tells me ye willna’, so I’ll be foolish nae more. I’ll tell him what a silly lass I’ve been an’ how he’ll laugh at my doubting fears.” She took a step toward his door, when it opened and Robert came quickly into the room, dressed for the ball, looking very handsome in his plain and unpretending dress of blue homespun, for he still retained the same simplicity of manner and appearance that he brought with him from the country. He stopped in amazement as he came face to face with his unexpected visitor.
Mary with a thrill of joy at the sight of her lover waited eagerly for the words of praise which she knew her appearance would elicit, and for which she hungered, but as he stood looking at her so calmly, so coldly, her joy turned to wonder and fear. What was the matter? Didn’t she please him? With a little gasp she put her hand nervously to her face. As it came in contact with the mask, which she had forgotten to remove, her heart gave a quick bound of relief. Of course! He didn’t know her. “He doesna’ ken who I am at all,” she thought gleefully.
As his eyes rested upon the pink mask, Robert[176] gave a sudden start, then glanced quickly at the table. No, it wasn’t there. So then this was Lady Nancy herself. He recognized her hair, her figure, and above all the mask. “So my haughty lady thinks it safer to play wi’ fire incognito, eh?” he thought grimly. “Weel, I’ll teach ye a lesson, my fine lady; ye need one badly.” Then aloud, “I’m indeed honored, madam, by your presence here to-night,” he said, bowing low before her.
Mary courtesied deeply. Oh, it was so exciting to be talking with her Robbie, and how surprised he would be when she unmasked.
“Haven’t ye a word to say to me, fair lady?” continued Robert softly, as she stood silently before him.
“He’ll sure ken my voice,” she thought in trepidation; “if I could only talk like a lady.” She wondered if she could imitate the haughty tones of Lady Nancy Gordon herself. She’d try. She seated herself languidly. “Then you don’t recognize me?” she asked, disguising her lyric voice, as near as possible, in the lazy drawl of Lady Glencairn’s voice.
He started and looked at her intently. It didn’t sound like Lady Nancy at all, but who else could she be? he thought blankly. “Your voice sounds like—but nae, I maun be mistaken,” he said doubtfully. “Nay, madam, I do not recognize you. Will you not remove——”
“What, my face?” laughed Mary. She had marvelously[177] lost all trace of her country intonation. “Oh, nay, sir! I’m too much attached to it.”
“Well ye might be, fair lady!” replied Robert, “but why do ye hide your beauty so jealously?” He reached out his hand to lift the mask from her face, but, with a rippling laugh, she eluded him, and from behind the high-backed settle made reply.
“Be not impatient, Mr. Burns,” she said saucily; “you shall see my face in good time, I warrant ye!” It must be Lady Nancy after all, he told himself.
“’Tis a promise of paradise, madam!” he cried fervently, entering into the spirit of adventure.
Mary looked at him reproachfully. Did he think she was really Lady Gordon? she wondered. The thought gave her pause. Well, she would find out how much he really cared for her, how much truth there was in the gossip she had heard. “Rumor sayeth, Mr. Burns, that ye are in love with the beautiful Lady Nancy Gordon; is that so?” she asked, fanning herself languorously.
He smiled quizzically into her face. “Rumor hath many tongues, fair lady, and most of them lying ones. The lady doesna’ suit my taste; even her money couldna’ tempt me, an’ I need the money badly. That will take her conceit down a peg I’ll warrant,” he thought grimly.
“But she is very beautiful, I h............