“I wonder whether the real source of my perplexity occurs to you, Miss Horn,” he said at length. “You know I have a daughter?”
“Weel eneuch that, my lord.”
“By my second marriage.”
“Nae merridge ava’, my lord.”
“True,—if I confess to the first.”
“A’ the same, whether or no, my lord.”
“Then you see,” the marquis went on, refusing offence, “what the admission of your story would make of my daughter?”
“That’s plain eneuch, my lord.”
“Now, if I have read Malcolm right, he has too much regard for his —mistress—to put her in such a false position.”
“That is, my lord, ye wad hae yer lawfu’ son beir the lawless name.”