This is my Leddy Florimel, frae the
Hoose."
"Hm!" said Duncan, the pain of his insult keenly renewed by the
mere mention of the scene of it. "Put," he went on, continuing
aloud the reflections of a moment of silence, "she'll pe a laty,
and it's not to pe laid to her charch. Sit town, my laty. Ta poor
place is your own."
But Lady Florimel was already seated, and busy in her mind as
to how she could best enter on the object of her visit. The piper
sat silent, revolving a painful suspicion with regard to Malcolm's
hurt.
"So you won't forgive my father, Mr MacPhail?" said Lady Florimel.
"She would forgife any man put two men," he answered, "--Clenlyon,
and ta man, whoefer he might pe, who would put upon her ta tiscrace
of trinking in his company."
"But you're quite mistaken," said Lady Florimel, in a pleading
tone. "I don't believe my father knows the gentleman you speak of."
"Chentleman!" echoed Duncan. "He is a tog!--No, he is no tog:
togs is coot. He is a mongrel of a fox and a volf!"
"There was no Campbell at our table that evening," persisted Lady
Florimel.
"Ten who tolt Tuncan MacPhail a lie!"
"It was nothing but a joke--indeed!" said the girl, beginning to
feel humiliated.
"It wass a paad choke, and might have peen ta hanging of poor
Tuncan," said the piper.
Now Lady Florimel had heard a rumour of some one having been, hurt
in the affair of the joke, and her quick wits instantly brought
that and Malcolm's hand together.
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