"I hae altered ma opee-nions a bit," he said. "Ye see, ma aunt in Glasgie's deed—"
"I understand," laughed Lorimer. "You've come in for the old lady's money?"
"Puir body!" and Sandy shook his head gravely. "A few hours before she died she tore up her will in a screamin' fury o' Christian charity and forethought,—meanin' to mak anither in favor o' leavin' a' her warld's trash to the Fund for Distributin' Bible Knowledge among the Heathen—but she never had time to fulfill her intention. She went off like a lamb,—and there being no will, her money fell to me, as the nearest survivin' relative—eh! the puir thing!—if her dees-imbodied spirit is anywhere aboot, she must be in a sair plight to think I've got it, after a' her curses!"
"How much?" asked Lorimer amused.
"Oh, just a fair seventy thousand or so," answered Macfarlane carelessly.
"Well done, Mac!" said Errington, with a smile, endeavoring to appear interested. "You're quite rich, then? I congratulate you!"
"Riches are a snare," observed Macfarlane, sententiously, "a snare and a decoy to both soul and body!" He laughed and rubbed his hands,—then added with some eagerness, "I say, how is Lady Errington?"
"She's very well," answered Sir Philip hurriedly, exchanging a quick look with Lorimer, which the latter at once understood. "She's away on a visit just now. I'm going to join her this afternoon."
"I'm sorry she's away," said Sandy, and he looked very disappointed; "but I'll see her when she comes back. Will she be long absent?"
"No, not long—a few days only"—and as Errington said this an involuntary sigh escaped him.