“Ye mean a scholar wha wad skip yer buiks, my lord! Haith! sic wad be a skipper wha wad ill scull yer boat!” said Malcolm, with a laugh at the poor attempt.
“Bravo!” said the marquis, who certainly was not over critical. “Can you write a good hand?”
“No ill, my lord.”
“So much the better! I see you’ll be worth your wages.”
“That depen’s on the wages,” returned Malcolm.
“And that reminds me you’ve said nothing about them yet.”
“Naither has yer lordship.”
“Well, what are they to be?”
“Whatever ye think proper, my lord. Only dinna gar me gang to Maister Crathie for them.”
The marquis had sent away the man who was waiting when Malcolm entered, and during this conversation Malcolm had of his own accord been doing his best to supply his place. The meal ended, Lady Florimel desired him to wait a moment in the hall.