A Cry in the Wilderness. Mary Ella Waller
her being in details," he said a little scornfully.
"Have you just found that out?" I retorted. "Well, you have n't cut all your wisdom teeth yet. And now, as you seem to think it's Doctor Rugvie I 'm most interested in, we 'll begin with your Mr. Ewart." I changed my tactics, for I feared I had shown too much eagerness for information about Doctor Rugvie.
"My Mr. Ewart!" He smiled to himself in a way that exasperated me.
"Yes, your Mr. Ewart. How old is he? For all you 've told me he might be a grandfather."
"Ewart—a grandfather!" Again he laughed, provokingly as I thought. I kept silence.
"Honestly, Marcia, I don't know Ewart's age, and"—he was suddenly serious—"for all I know, he may be a grandfather."
"For all you know! What do you mean by that?"
"I mean I never seriously gave Gordon Ewart's age a thought. When I am with him he seems, somehow, as young as I—younger in one way, for he has such splendid health. But I suppose he really is old enough to be my father—forty-five or six, possibly; I don't know."
"Is he married?"
Jamie brought his hand down upon his knee with such a whack that the old cart-horse gave a queer hop-skip-and-jump. We both laughed at his antic.
"There you have me, Marcia. I 'm floored in your first round of questions. I don't know exactly—"
"Exactly! It seems to me that, marriage being an exact science, if a man is married why he is—and no ifs and buts."
"That's so." Jamie spoke seriously and nodded wisely. "I never heard it put in just those words, 'exact science', but come to think of it, you 're right."
"Well, is he?"
"Is he what?"
"Married. Are we to expect later on a Mrs. Ewart at Lamoral?"
"Great Scott, no!" said Jamie emphatically. "Look here, Marcia, I hate to tell tales that possibly, and probably, have no foundation—"
"Who wants you to tell tales?" I said indignantly. "I won't hear you now whatever you say. You think a woman has no honor in such things."
"Oh, well, you 'll have to hear it sometime, I suppose, in the village—"
"I won't—and I won't hear you either," I said, and closed my ears with my fingers; but in vain, for he fairly shouted at me:
"I say, I don't know whether he 's married or not—"
"And I say I don't care—"
"Well, you heard that anyway," he shouted again diabolically; "here 's another: they say—"
"Keep still; the whole village can hear you—"
"We 're not within a mile of the village; take your fingers out of your ears if you don't want me to shout."
"Not till you stop shouting." He lowered his voice then, and I unstopped my ears.
"I say, Marcia, I believe it's all a rotten lot of damned gossip—"
"Why, Jamie Macleod! I never heard you use so strong an expression."
"I don't care; it's my way of letting off steam. Mother is n't round."
We both laughed and grew good-humored again.
"I never thought a Scotsman, who takes porridge regularly at nine o'clock every evening, could swear—"
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