"If it's her interest to hold her tongue, it's my interest to hold mine, and there's an end of it for the present!" He put up his feet on a chair, and rested his magnificent muscles after his walk, and filled another pipe, in thorough contentment with himself.
No interference to dread from Anne, no more awkward questions (on the terms they were on now) to come from Arnold.

He looked back at the quarrel on the heath with a certain complacency--he did his friend justice; though they _had_ disagreed.

"Who would have thought the fellow had so much pluck in him!" he said to himself as he struck the match and lit his second pipe.
An hour more wore on; and Sir Patrick was the next person who returned.
He was thoughtful, but in no sense depressed.

Judging by appearances, his errand to Craig Fernie had certainly not ended in disappointment.
The old gentleman hummed his favorite little Scotch air--rather absently, perhaps--and took his pinch of snuff from the knob of his ivory cane much as usual.

He went to the library bell and summoned a servant.
"Any body been here for me ?"--"No, Sir Patrick."-- "No letters ?"--"No, Sir Patrick."-- "Very well.