"Sure, sir, that is for you to say," I made answer. "So far as I know at this time we merely happen to be passengers together on this craft."
He laughed.
"I might have known it!" he exclaimed. "'Twas not like Juggins to send a bumpkin to Burnet. He hath been an enemy I might not scorn at any moment. And for a mere merchant he hath extraordinary spirit."
This was said with an air of condescension which irked me.
"You, sir," I remarked, "are no less a merchant. Why pretend to gentrice?"
A remarkable change came over the man. He ceased from tapping on his snuff-box. A wave of color suffused his face and neck; his eyes flashed. He straightened his back and shoulders and frowned upon me.
"Pretend—gentrice!" he rasped. "Sir, you are insulting. I have the blood of kings in my veins. I am of the Murrays of Cobbielaw. I quarter my arms with the Keiths, the Humes, the Morays—with every great family of Scotland. My grandfather four times removed was James V.
"I pretend to gentrice! I tell you there are few families in Europe can boast my lineage."
"It hath a Jacobite color to it," I could not resist observing.
He cooled rapidly at this, and the broad Scots accent which had crept into his speech soon disappeared.