Caumill!--Yer lordship never said ye
wanted yer lordship's horse ta'en. I thocht ye micht be gaein' on
to The Bothie.--Tak' Black Geordie here, Caumill.--Come in to the
parlour, my lord.'
'How d'ye do, Miss Naper?' said Lord Rothie, as he entered the room.
'Here's this jade of a sister of yours asking me why I don't go home
to The Bothie, when I choose to stop and water here.'
'What'll ye tak', my lord?--Letty, fess the brandy.'
'Oh! damn your brandy! Bring me a gill of good Glendronach.'
'Rin, Letty. His lordship's cauld.--I canna rise to offer ye the
airm-cheir, my lord.'
'I can get one for myself, thank heaven!'
'Lang may yer lordship return sic thanks.'
'For I'm only new begun, ye think, Miss Naper. Well, I don't often
trouble heaven with my affairs. By Jove! I ought to be heard when
I do.'
'Nae doobt ye will, my lord, whan ye seek onything that's fit to be
gien ye.'
'True. Heaven's gifts are seldom much worth the asking.'
'Haud yer tongue, my lord, and dinna bring doon a judgment upo' my
hoose, for it wad be missed oot o' Rothieden,'
'You're right there, Miss Naper. And here comes the whisky to stop
my mouth.'
The Baron of Rothie sat for a few minutes with his feet on the
fender before Miss Letty's blazing fire, without speaking, while he
sipped the whisky neat from a wine-glass. He was a man about the
middle height, rather full-figured, muscular and active, with a
small head, and an eye whose brightness had not yet been dimmed by
the sensuality which might be read in the condition rather than
frame of his countenance.
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