It was no light favor to be quickly given and quickly removed. Most good
things are gradual; and Mary's kindness fell as the dew, a little in the
morning, and a little in the evening. Here, a formality was dropped; there
a tangible token of equality given. First, the evening dresses of white
mull and pale merinos; then the meal at her table, and the seat in her
carriage. And when this point had been reached, it had been so naturally
and unobtrusively reached, that even the servants only remembered the
first days of Maggie's residence at Drumloch, as a time when "Miss
Promoter dootless had a sorrow o' her ain, and keepit much to hersel'."
With a more conventional girl, Mary might have had much difficulty in
reaching this state of affairs; but Maggie took her kindness with the
simple pleasure and gratitude of a child; and she certainly had not the
faintest conception of Mary Campbell's relation to Allan.
Allan had distinctly spoken of his home as being in Bute; and of his
cousin, as living in the same house with him from her childhood. Mary, in
her own castle in Ayrshire, was certainly far enough away from all Allan's
statements to destroy every suspicion of her identify. And the name of
"Campbell" told her nothing at all. As Mary said, "The Campbells were a
big clan." They abounded throughout the west of Scotland. Around Drumloch,
every third man was a Campbell. In Glasgow the name was prominent on the
sign boards of every street. In a Fife fishing village there are rarely
more than four or five surnames. A surname had not much importance in
Maggie's eyes. She had certainly noticed that "Campbell" frequently met
"Promoter;" but certain names seem to have affinities for certain lives;
at least certain letters do; and Maggie, quoting a superstition of her
class, settled the matter to her own satisfaction, by reflecting "what
comes to me wi' a 'C,' aye comes wi' good to me."