Her easygoing father was amused, laughed,
and said nothing more on the subject at the time.
Lady Florimel did not confess that she had begun to feel her life
monotonous, or mention that she had for some time been cultivating
the acquaintance of a few of her poor neighbours, and finding
their odd ways of life and thought and speech interesting. She had
especially taken a liking to Duncan MacPhail, in which, strange to
say, Demon, who had hitherto absolutely detested the appearance of
any one not attired as a lady or gentleman, heartily shared. She
found the old man so unlike anything she had ever heard or read
of--so full of grand notions in such contrast with his poor
conditions; so proud yet so overflowing with service--dusting
a chair for her with his bonnet, yet drawing himself up like an
offended hidalgo if she declined to sit in it--more than content
to play the pipes while others dined, yet requiring a personal
apology from the marquis himself for a practical joke! so full
of kindness and yet of revenges--lamenting over Demon when he
hurt his foot, yet cursing, as she overheard him once, in fancied
solitude, with an absolute fervour of imprecation, a continuous
blast of poetic hate which made her shiver; and the next moment
sighing out a most wailful coronach on his old pipes. It was all
so odd, so funny, so interesting! It nearly made her aware of human
nature as an object of study. But lady Florimel had never studied
anything yet, had never even perceived that anything wanted studying,
that is, demanded to be understood.
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