Johnstone of the Border by Harold Bindloss

It was bright afternoon, and Elsie sat beside a tea-table on the lawn at Appleyard, with Williamson standing beside her. The days were getting short, but the screen of stiff silver-firs kept off the light wind, and strong sunshine warmed the air. It was what the Scot calls a pet day; one borrowed from a finer season, and to be made the most of when winter was close at hand. Madge Whitney lay in a canvas lounge nearer the shelter of the trees, talking to Andrew, and several young men and women stood about the tennis net across the lawn. They seemed to be engaged in a good-humored dispute and their laughter followed a remark of Dick's.

Williamson glanced at his companion and saw that her eyes were fixed upon the boy. They were grave, and her expression was preoccupied, but he did not see the softness he had expected. Indeed, her interest in Dick was puzzling, because he did not think it was altogether accounted for by the hints Staffer had given him, and this was a point upon which he wished to be enlightened. Williamson knew something about women, but, for the most part, they were not women of very high character. With these he was not a favorite, although he was a clever talker and his manners were good.