CHAPTER IV
My guardian was a man whose custom it was to give large and dignified
parties. Among his grand and fashionable guests there was nearly always
a sprinkling of the more important members of the literary world. The
night after I arrived there was to be a particularly notable dinner. I
had come prepared to appear at it. Jean had brought fine array for
me and a case of jewels. I knew I must be "dressed up" and look as
important as I could. When I went up-stairs after tea, Jean was in my
room laying things out on the bed.
"The man you like so much is to dine here to-night, Ysobel," she said.
"Mr. Hector MacNairn."
I believe I even put my hand suddenly to my heart as I stood and looked
at her, I was so startled and so glad.
"You must tell him how much you love his books," she said. She had a
quiet, motherly way.
"There will be so many other people who will want to talk to him," I
answered, and I felt a little breathless with excitement as I said it.
"And I should be too shy to know how to say such things properly."
"Don't be afraid of him," was her advice. "The man will be like his
books, and they're the joy of your life."
She made me look as nice as she could in the new dress she had brought;
she made me wear the Muircarrie diamonds and sent me downstairs. It does
not matter who the guests were; I scarcely remember.
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