The sound of voices and occasional laughter in a neighboring apartment gave evidence that there were more of the fair consolers in the house, and that other men, beside Blodget and Monteagle, were regaling their eyes with feminine loveliness.
A few moments conversation sufficed to show that the dark eyed girl was a native of South America, while the other had been born and brought up in the land of Johnny Bull, though her accent betrayed that her earlier days had been spent in the ‘North Countrie.’ She was one of Burns’ beauties, and how so fair a flower, who, even now seemed to have retained some portion of her modesty, should ever have found her way to a house of this description on the distant shores of California, was a problem which Monteagle found difficult to solve.
Throwing himself on a sofa and putting his arm around her slender waist, Monteagle said—‘Were not you and I acquainted in the old country?’
Although this was merely common place nonsense, the girl slightly blushed before she replied—‘Nae doubt, sir, they be all frae Scotland that speaks to me, sir.’
‘You did not know that I was descended from the noble house of—’
‘Douglas?’
‘No, but of—of—’
‘Oh! the Bruce it must be—’
‘No—stop—the—house of Monteith.’
‘Monteith!’ cried she, removing herself farther from, and affecting horror at the name.