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.