Chapter XXXVII: Coquette in Town

As Coquette and Lady Drum drew near to Glasgow the impatience of the girl increased. Her thoughts flew on more swiftly than the train; and they were all directed towards the Whaup, whom she was now about to see.

"Will he be at the station? Does he know we are coming? Or shall we see him as we go along the streets?" she asked.

"Dear me!" said Lady Drum. "Ye seem to think that Glasgow is no bigger than Saltcoats. Meet him in the streets? We should scarce see him in the streets if he were dressed in scaurlet."

It was growing towards dusk when the two ladies arrived. Lady Drum's carriage was waiting at the station; and presently Coquette found herself in the midst of the roar and turmoil of the great city. The lamps on the bridges were burning yellow in the grey coldness of the twilight; and she caught a glimpse of the masses of shipping down in the dusky bed of the river. Then up through the busy streets--where the windows were growing bright with gas, and dense crowds of people were hurrying to and fro, and the carts, and waggons, and carriages were raising a din that was strange and bewildering to ears grown accustomed to the stillness of Airlie.

"Alas!" said Coquette, "I cannot see him in this crowd--it is impossible."

Lady Drum laughed, and said nothing. And so they drove on--the high, old-fashioned chariot, which ought to have been kept for state purposes down at Castle Cawmil, swinging gently on its big springs--up to the north-western districts of the city. When Coquette was finally set down in front of a range of tall houses, the rooms of which were shining ruddily through crimson curtains, she got up the steps, and turned to take a look at her new place of abode. Behold! in front of her there was no more city; but a great gulf of pale blue mist, with here and there an orange lamp burning in the distance. There were no more streets, nor crowds, nor great waggons; and she even became aware that there were trees in front of her, down there in the mysterious hollow.

"Where am I?" she said. "It is not a town--are we in the country again? And where is my cousin?"

At this moment the hall door was thrown open by a servant; and out of the blaze of light came a dapper and fat little gentleman, who, with some brief exclamation of welcome, darted down the steps and gave his arm to Coquette.

"Charmed to see you, Miss Cassilis," cried Sir Peter; "hope you will have many a pleasant evening--many, and many, and many a pleasant evening. Yes, yes, yes, indeed!"

Then he was about to hand her over in his airy fashion to the young person who had been told off as her maid; but Miss Coquette was rebellious.

"No," she said. "I do wish to go and see my cousin before anything; he does not know I am in this town; it will be good-natured of you, Sir Peter, to come with me."

"Oh, certainly! certainly! Roberts, hold on for a minute! My lady, keep dinner to half-past eight. Come along, my dear. H'm! Ha! Ha-ha-ha!"

Lady Drum stood at the open door, amazed. Indeed, she was so astounded by this mad project on the part of her husband--within an hour of dinner-time--that she had not a word to say; and in blank astonishment she beheld the carriage drive off. Once more Coquette found herself getting into a labyrinth of streets; and the farther they drove the more noisy and dingy they seemed to become. She began to wonder if it was in this place that the Whaup had been living for so long a time, and how the thought of Airlie and the wild moorland and the sea had not broken his heart.

It happens to most lads who go to college that they attach themselves to some friend and companion considerably older than themselves, who proceeds to act as their counsellor, teacher, and ally. Nothing of the kind was possible to the Whaup. His individuality was too strong to admit of any such submission. No sooner had he thrown himself into the midst of college life than his exuberant spirits, along with a touch of his old love of devilment, attracted round him a considerable circle of associates, of whom he was the heart and soul. It is to be feared that the Whaup and his friends did not form the most studious coterie to be found in the old High Street building. Plenty of study there was; and the Whaup worked as hard as any of them; but the wild evenings which these young gentlemen spent in their respective lodgings--the stories told of their daredevil pranks--and the very free-and-easy manners of more than one mother's son among them--gained for this band a dangerous reputation. They were held to be rather wild by the more discreet and methodical of their fellow-collegians. The Whaup himself was known to stick at nothing. His splendid physique gave him many advantages; and after having let daylight come in upon their rambling and hotheaded disquisitions on poetry or "metapheesics," on their too copious beer-drinking, and smoking of lengthy clays, many were chagrined to meet the Whaup in the forenoon as fresh and pink as a daisy, having just completed his morning classes, and setting out for a long swinging walk round by the Botanic Gardens and the Kelvin.

"What a powerful young fellow your cousin is," said Sir Peter, as they drove along George Street. "Did you hear of his adventure at the theatre? No? Good story; very good story; ho! ho! excellent story. He takes three young ladies to the theatre--cabman insults him--he hands the young ladies into the theatre, comes back, hauls the cabman down from his box and gives him a thorough thrashing in about a minute. Up comes another cabman, squares up, is sent flying into the arms of a policeman; the policeman admires pluck, and says it serves them both right. Your cousin goes into the theatre, sits down, nobody knows. Ho, ho! Ha, ha! Ha, ha!"

"But, pray, who were the young ladies?" asked Coquette, with a touch of proud asperity.

"Young ladies--young ladies--young ladies--who can remember the names of young ladies?" said, or rather hummed, Sir Peter, keeping time by tapping on the carriage window. "Why, I remember! Those charming girls that sing--what's the song?--why, the doctor's daughters, you know, Kate, and Mary, and Bess--all of them Menzies, Menzies, Menzies!"

"I think my cousin ought to attend to his studies, rather than go about with young ladies," said Coquette.

"So, ho!" cried Sir Peter. "Must a young man have no amusement? Suppose he caps his studies by marrying one of the doctor's daughters!"

"There are plenty to choose from," said Coquette, with an air of disdain.

Indeed, the mention of those three young ladies rendered Coquette silent for the rest of the drive; and Sir Peter was left to talk and hum to himself. Yet it was but a little time before that Coquette had clapped her hands with joy on hearing that the Whaup had made those acquaintances, and that she had eagerly asked Lady Drum if it was probable he might marry one of them. Why should she suddenly feel jealous now, and refuse to speak to this poor Sir Peter, who was risking his dinner to do her a service?

Her face lightened considerably when the carriage was pulled up; and she got out to look with some curiosity on the gaunt and grey house in George Street, which bore a number she had often written on her letters. Many a time she had thought of this house, and mentally drawn a picture of it. But the picture she had drawn was of a small building with a porch, and green casements, and a big square in front, with trees in it--in short, she had thought of a quiet thoroughfare in an old-fashioned French town. She was more grieved than disappointed with the ugliness of this house.

Sir Peter led her along the entry, and up the stone stairs to the first landing. It was her first introduction to the Scotch system of building houses. But her attention was suddenly withdrawn from this matter by a considerable noise within; and over the noise there broke the music of a song, which was plentifully accompanied by rappings on a table or on the floor.

"Ah, c'est lui!" she suddenly cried. "I do know it is he."

The Whaup, to tell the truth, had not a very beautiful voice; but it was strong enough; and both Sir Peter and Coquette could hear him carelessly shouting the words of an old English ballad--

Come lasses and lads, away from your dads,
And away to the maypole hie,
For every fair has a sweetheart there,
And the fiddlers standing by!
For Willy shall dance with Jane,
And Johnny has got his Joan,
To trip it, trip it, trip it, trip it, trip it up and down

--while there was a measured beating of hands and feet. Sir Peter had to knock twice before any one answered; and when the door was opened, lo! it was the Whaup himself who appeared--there being no one else in the house to perform this office.

"What! is it you, Coquette!" he cried, seizing both her hands.

"Oh, you bad boy!" she cried. "How you do smell of tobacco!"

And, indeed, there came from the apartment he had just left--the door of which was also wide open--rolling volumes of smoke, which nearly took Sir Peter's breath away.

"But what am I to do with you?" he said. "Mine is the only room in the house that isn't in confusion just now----"

"We will go in and see your friends, if you do not object, and if the gentlemen will permit us," said Coquette, at once. Perhaps she was desirous of knowing what company he kept.

You should have seen how swiftly those young men put away their pipes; and how anxious they were to get Coquette a chair; and how they strove to look very mild and good. You would have fancied they had been holding a prayer meeting; but their manner changed perceptibly when Coquette hoped she had not interrupted their smoking, and graciously asked that the gentleman who had been singing should continue--at which there was much laughter, for the Whaup looked confused. It was in the midst of this reawakening of voices that Sir Peter (who was beginning to feel uncomfortable about his dinner) explained the object of his visit, and asked the Whaup if he could come along later in the evening. Of course, his friends counselled him to go at once; but he was not so lost to all notions of hospitality.

"No," said he; "I will come and see you to-morrow night."

Coquette seemed hurt.

"Well," said her cousin to her, with a dash of his old impertinence, "you can stay here if you like, and let Sir Peter go home with an excuse for you."

The young men appeared as if they would have liked to second that invitation, but dared not. Indeed, they regarded Coquette--whose foreign accent they had noticed--in rather an awe-stricken way. Perhaps she was a French princess who had come on a visit to Sir Peter; and she looked like a princess, and had the calm graciousness and self-possession of a princess. That was no blushing country girl who sat there--the small lady with the delicate and pale features and the large, quiet, dark eyes, who had such a wonderful air of ease and refinement. The rough students felt their gaze fall when she looked at them. What would they not have given to have spoken with her for a whole evening, and looked at the wonders of her costume and the splendour of her dark hair?

"What do you say, Coquette?" said the Whaup; and they all pricked up their ears to hear her called by this strange name.

Coquette laughed. Doubtless she considered the proposal as a piece of her cousin's raillery; but any one at all conversant with the secret likings of the young lady--as the Whaup was--must have known that she was perhaps not so averse to spending an evening with a lot of young students as she ought to have been.

"Perhaps I should like it," she said, frankly, "if you did all sing to me--and tell stories--and make me one of your companions. But I am very hungry--I have had no dinner."

"Bravely and sensibly spoken!" cried Sir Peter, who had become alarmed by this outrageous suggestion put forward by the Whaup. "Come along, my dear Miss Cassilis; your cousin will call and see you to-morrow night."

"Good-bye, Tom," said Coquette. "I am pleased you enjoy yourself in Glasgow. It is not all study and books--no? And now I understand why you did write to me such very short letters."

"Look here, Coquette," said he, as they were about to go. "What are you going to do to-morrow morning? I suppose you'll be driving about, and visiting grand people, and you won't have a word for me."

"Ah, you wicked boy, to say that!" she said, reproachfully. "You will come for me to-morrow when you choose--nine, ten, eleven--and we will go for a walk just where you please; and I will speak to nobody but you; and you shall show me all the things worth seeing in Glasgow and round about."

"Why, Coquette, it is all like a dream come true!" he cried. "And to think that you are in Glasgow at last!"

With that, Sir Peter offered the young lady his arm, and hurried her down stairs. He was becoming more and more anxious about his dinner.

The Whaup returned to his companions, and instantly perceived that they were treating him with unusual respect. They would talk, also, about the young lady; and whether she was to remain long in Glasgow; and where the Whaup had seen her first; and whether she would likely be up at his rooms any other evening. Master Tom was not very communicative; but at last one ventured to say--

"Tell us, now, Cassilis, is she likely to be married soon?"

"She is," said the Whaup.

"To whom?"

"To me," said the Whaup.