IX
A PHILOSOPHER
During luncheon an exceedingly efficient person had been moving brisklybehind the chairs. His face was so expressionless, his mouth so tightlyclosed, and his air of concentration on the business in hand so intense,that he seemed the perfect type of the silent butler. But as soon aslunch was over, and while Cicely still stood in the hall listening witha dubious eye to Malcolm's suggestion of a game of billiards, Mr. JamesBisset revealed the other side of his personality. He came up to theyoung couple with just sufficient deference, but no more, and in anaccent which experts would have recognised as the hall mark of thewestern part of North Britain, said:
"Excuse me, miss, but I've mended your bicycle and I'll show it you ifye like, and just explain the principle of the thing."
There was at least as much command as invitation in his tones. Thebilliard invitation was refused, and with a hidden smile Cicely followedhim to the bicycle house.
Expert knowledge was James Bisset's foible. Of some subjects, such asbuttling, carpentry, and mending bicycles, it was practical; of others,such as shooting, gardening, and motoring, it was more theoretical. ToSir Reginald and my lady he was quite indispensable, for he could repairalmost anything, knew his own more particular business from A to Z, andwas ready at any moment to shoulder any responsibility. Sir Reginald'skeeper, gardener, and chauffeur were apt however to be a trifle lessenthusiastic, Mr. Bisset's passion for expounding the principles oftheir professions sometimes exceeding his tact.
In person, he was an active, stoutly built man (though far too energeticto be fat), with blunt rounded features, eyes a little protruding, andsandy hair and a reddish complexion which made his age an unguessablesecret. He might have been in the thirties or he might have been in thefifties.
"With regard to these ladies' bicycles, miss--" he began with alecturer's air.
But by this time Cicely was also an expert in side-tracking her friend'stheoretical essays.
"Oh, how clever of you!" she exclaimed rapturously. "It looks as good asever!"
The interruption was too gratifying to offend.
"Better in some ways," he said complacently. "The principle of thesethings is----"
"I did miss it this morning," she hurried on. "In fact I had to havequite a long walk. Luckily Mr. Cromarty of Stanesland gave me a liftcoming home."
"Oh, indeed, miss? Stanesland gave ye a lift, did he? An interestinggentleman yon."
This time she made no effort to divert Mr. Bisset's train of thought.
"You think Mr. Cromarty interesting, then?" said she.
"They say he's hanged a man with his ain hands," said Bissetimpressively.
"What!" she cried.
"For good and sufficient reason, we'll hope, miss. But whatever the wayof it, it makes a gentleman more interesting in a kin' of way than theusual run. And then looking at the thing on general principles, thetheory of hanging is----"
"Oh, but surely," she interrupted, "that isn't the only reason why Mr.Cromarty--I mean why you think he is interesting?"
"There's that glass eye, too. That's very interesting, miss."
She still seemed unsatisfied.
"His glass eye! Oh--you mean it has a story?"
"Vera possibly. He says himself it was done wi' a whisky bottle, butpossibly that's making the best of it. But what interests me, miss,about yon eye is this----"
He paused dramatically and she enquired in an encouraging voice:
"Yes, Bisset?"
"It's the principle of introducing a foreign substance so near the man'sbrain. What's glass? What's it consist of?"
"I--I don't know," confessed Cicely weakly.
"Silica! And what's silica? Practically the same as sand! Well now if yeput a handful of sand into a man's brain--or anyhow next door to it,it's bound to have some effect, bound to have some effect!"
Bisset's voice fell to a very serious note, and as he was famous for therange of his reading and was generally said to know practically by heart"The People's Self-Educator in Science and Art," Cicely asked a littleapprehensively:
"But what effect can it possibly have?"
"It might take him different ways," said the philosopher cautiouslythough sombrely. "But it's a good thing, anyway, Miss Farmond, that thelaird of Stanesland is no likely to get married."
"Isn't he?" she asked, again with that encouraging note.
Bisset replied with another question, asked in an ominous voice:
"Have ye seen yon castle o' his, miss?"
Cicely nodded.
"I called there once with Lady Cromarty."
"A most interesting place, miss, illustrating the principle of thaecastles very instructively."
Mr. Bisset had evidently been studying architecture as well as science,and no doubt would have given Miss Farmond some valuable information onthe subject. But she seemed to lack enthusiasm for it to-day.
"But will the castle prevent him marrying?" she enquired with a smile.
"The lady in it will," said the philosopher with a sudden descent intoworldly shrewdness.
"Miss Cromarty! Why?"
"She's mair comfortable there than setting off on her travels again.That's a fac', miss."
"But--but supposing he----" Cicely began and then paused.
"Oh, the laird's no the marrying sort anyhow. He says to me himself oneday when I'd taken the liberty of suggesting that a lady would suit thecastle fine--we was shooting and I was carrying his cartridges, which Ido for amusement, miss, whiles--'Bisset,' says he, 'the lady will haveto be a damned keen shot to think me worth a cartridge. I'm too toughfor the table,' says he, 'and not ornamental enough to stuff. They'velet me off so far, and why the he--' begging your pardon, miss, butStanesland uses strong expressions sometimes. 'Why the something,' sayshe, 'should they want to put me in the bag now? I'm happier free--andso's the lady.' But he's a grand shot and a vera friendly gentleman,vera friendly indeed. It's a pity, though, he's that ugly."
"Ugly!" she exclaimed. "Oh, I don't think him ugly at all. He's verystriking looking. I think he is rather handsome."
Bisset looked at her with a benevolently reproving eye.
"Weel, miss, it's all a matter of taste, but to my mind Stanesland is afine gentleman, but the vera opposite extreme from a Venus." He brokeoff and glanced towards the house. "Oh, help us! There's one of thaehelpless women crying on me. How this house would get on wantingme----!"
He left Miss Farmond to paint the gloomy picture for herself.
Simon Page 9
