He opened his eyes and gazed down into her straightforward ones.
"Whoever may be the lass my bairnie loves will be honored by that love;
aye, and sanctified by that love! And sic a lass will deserve from Jeanie
Mac Dougal a smile at our threshold and respect in our hame." She went
away. Her eyes were dim with unshed tears; but she held her chin high and
trailed her bit of a train with dignity.
Morrison folded the paper and put it away. He took a turn up and down the
long room, confronting the portrait faces in turn. He eyed them as if he
were approaching them on a matter where there now could be a better
understanding than on the subject suggested by the slip of paper. "I don't
know whether Blanchard ought to be kicked or coddled," he confessed. "He's
a fair sample of the rest. They don't kick so often in these days,
Grands'r Angus, as you did in yours. On the other hand, Daddy David, there
has been too much coddling in this country, lately, by the cowardice of
men who ought to know better and the coddling has continued to the hurt of
all of us!"
He sat down and looked at the clock; the face of that would, at least,
tell him something definite: Blanchard said that he was talking from the
club, around the corner, and would be along in five minutes.
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