“I really cannot decide which of you was the more disagreeable,” said Salemina; “if he calls, I shall not remain in the room.”
“I wouldn’t gratify him by staying out,” retorted Francesca. “He is extremely good for the circulation; I think I was never so warm in my life as when I talked with him; as physical exercise he is equal to bicycling. The bridge man is coming to call, too. I made him a diagram of Breadalbane Terrace, and a plan of the hall and staircase, on my dinner-card. He was distinctly ungrateful; in fact, he remarked that he had been born in this very house, but would not trust himself to find his way upstairs with my plan as a guide. He also said the American vocabulary was vastly amusing, so picturesque, unstudied, and fresh.”
“That was nice, surely,” I interpolated.
“You know perfectly well that it was an insult.”
“Francesca is very like that young man,” laughed Salemina, “who, whenever he engaged in controversy, seemed to take off his flesh and sit in his nerves.”
“I’m not supersensitive,” replied Francesca, “but when one’s vocabulary is called picturesque by a Britisher, one always knows he is thinking of cowboys and broncos. However, I shifted the weight into the other scale by answering ‘Thank you. And your phraseology is just as unusual to us.’ ‘Indeed?’ he said with some surprise. ‘I supposed our method of expression very sedate and uneventful.’ ‘Not at all,’ I returned, ‘when you say, as you did a moment ago, that you never eat potato to your fish.’ ‘But I do not,’ he urged obtusely. ‘Very likely,’ I argued, ‘but the fact is not of so much importance as the preposition. Now I eat potato WITH my fish.’ ‘You make a mistake,’ he said, and we both laughed in spite of ourselves, while he murmured, ‘eating potato WITH fish—how extraordinary.’ Well, the bridge man may not add perceptibly to the gaiety of the nations, but he is better than the Reverend Ronald. I forgot to say that when I chanced to be speaking of doughnuts, that ‘unconquer’d Scot’ asked me if a doughnut resembled a peanut? Can you conceive such ignorance?”
“I think you were not only aggressively American, but painfully provincial,” said Salemina, with some warmth. “Why in the world should you drag doughnuts into a dinner-table conversation in Edinburgh? Why not select topics of universal interest?”
“Like the Currie Brig or the shade of Montrose,” I murmured slyly.
“To one who has ever eaten a doughnut, the subject is of transcendent interest; and as for one who has not—well, he should be made to feel his limitations,” replied Francesca, with a yawn. “Come, let us forget our troubles in sleep; it is after midnight.”
About half an hour later she came to my bedside, her dark hair hanging over her white gown, her eyes still bright.
“Penelope,” she said softly, “I did not dare tell Salemina, and I should not confess it to you save that I am afraid Lady Baird will complain of me; but I was dreadfully rude to the Reverend Ronald! I couldn’t help it; he roused my worst passions. It all began with his saying he thought international marriages presented even more difficulties to the imagination than the other kind. I hadn’t said anything about marriages nor thought anything about marriages of any sort, but I told him INSTANTLY I considered that every international marriage involved two national suicides. He said that he shouldn’t have put it quite so forcibly, but that he hadn’t given much thought to the subject. I said that I had, and I thought we had gone on long enough filling the coffers of the British nobility with American gold.”
“FRANCES!” I interrupted. “Don’t tell me that you made that vulgar, cheap newspaper assertion!”
“I did,” she replied stoutly, “and at the moment I only wished I could make it stronger. If there had been anything cheaper or more vulgar, I should have said it, but of course there isn’t. Then he remarked that the British nobility merited and needed all the support it could get in these hard times, and asked if we had not cherished some intention in the States, lately, of bestowing it in greenbacks instead of gold! I threw all manners to the winds after that and told him that there were no husbands in the world like American men, and that foreigners never seemed to have any proper consideration for women. Now, were my remarks any worse than his, after all, and what shall I do about it anyway?”
“You should go to bed first,” I murmured sleepily; “and if you ever have an opportunity to make amends, which I doubt, you should devote yourself to showing the Reverend Ronald the breadth of your own horizon instead of trying so hard to broaden his. As you are extremely pretty, you may possibly succeed; man is human, and I dare say in a month you will be advising him to love somebody more worthy than yourself. (He could easily do it!) Now don’t kiss me again, for I am displeased with you; I hate international bickering!”
“So do I,” agreed Francesca virtuously, as she plaited her hair, “and there is no spectacle so abhorrent to every sense as a narrow-minded man who cannot see anything outside of his own country. But he is awfully good-looking,—I will say that for him: and if you don’t explain me to Lady Baird, I will write to Mr. Beresford about the earl. There was no bickering there; it was looking at you two that made us think of international marriages.”
“It must have suggested to you that speech about filling the coffers of the British nobility,” I replied sarcastically, “inasmuch as the earl has twenty thousand pounds a year, probably, and I could barely buy two gold hairpins to pin on the coronet. There, do go away and leave me in peace!”
“Good night again, then,” she said, as she rose reluctantly from the foot of the bed. “I doubt if I can sleep for thinking what a pity it is that such an egotistic, bumptious, pugnacious, prejudiced, insular, bigoted person should be so handsome! And who wants to marry him any way, that he should be so distressed about international alliances? One would think that all female America was sighing to lead him to the altar!”
Chapter VIII. ‘What made th’ Assembly shine?’
Two or three days ago we noted an unusual though subdued air of excitement at 22 Breadalbane Terrace, where for a week we had been the sole lodgers. Mrs. Menzies, whom we call Mingess, has returned to Kilconquhar, which she calls Kinyuchar; Miss Cockburn-Sinclair has purchased her wedding outfit and gone back to Inverness, where she will be greeted as Coburn-Sinkler; the Hepburn-Sciennes will be leaving to-morrow, just as we have learned to pronounce their names; and the sound of the scrubbing-brush is heard in the land. In corners where all was clean and spotless before, Mrs. M’Collop is digging with the broom, and the maiden Boots is following her with a damp cloth. The stair carpets are hanging on lines in the back garden, and Susanna, with her cap rakishly on one side, is always to be seen polishing the stair-rods. Whenever we traverse the halls we are obliged to leap over pails of suds, and Miss Diggity-Dalgety has given us two dinners which bore a curious resemblance to washing-day repasts in suburban America.
“Is it spring house-cleaning?” I ask Mistress M’Collop.
“Na, na,” she replies hurriedly; “it’s the meenisters.”
On the 19th of May we are a maiden castle no longer. Black coats and hats ring at the bell, and pass in and out of the different apartments. The hall table is sprinkled with letters, visiting-cards, and programmes which seem to have had the alphabet shaken out upon them, for they bear the names of professors, doctors, reverends, and very reverends, and fairly bristle with A.M.‘s, M.A.‘s, A.B.‘s, D.D.‘s, and LL.D.‘s. The voice of family prayer is lifted up from the dining-room floor, and paraphrases and hymns float down the stairs from above. Their Graces the Lord High Commissioner and the Marchioness of Heatherdale will arrive to-day at Holyrood Palace, there to reside during the sittings of the General Assembly of the Church of Scotland, and to-morrow the Royal Standard will be hoisted at Edinburgh Castle from reveille to retreat. His Grace will hold a levee at eleven. Directly His Grace leaves the palace after the levee, the guard of honour will proceed by the Canongate to receive him on his arrival at St. Giles’ Church, and will then proceed to Assembly Hall to receive him on his arrival there. The Sixth Inniskilling Dragoons and the First Battalion Royal Scots will be in attendance, and there will be Unicorns, Carricks, pursuivants, heralds, mace-bearers, ushers, and pages, together with the Purse-bearer, and the Lyon King-of-Arms, and the national anthem, and the royal salute; for the palace has awakened and is ‘mimicking its past.’