“Because the little blackguard's grog would be stopped on board the yacht if he did.”
Flucker had not been gone many minutes before loud cheering was heard, and Christie Johnstone appeared convoyed by a large detachment of the Old Town; she had tried to slip away, but they would not let her. They convoyed her in triumph till they saw the New Town people, and then they turned and left her.
She came in among the groups, a changed woman—her pallor and her listlessness were gone—the old light was in her eye, and the bright color in her cheek, and she seemed hardly to touch the earth.
“I'm just droukit, lasses,” cried she, gayly, wringing her sleeve. Every eye was upon her; did she know, or did she not know, what she had done?
Lord Ipsden stepped forward; the people tacitly accepted him as the vehicle of their curiosity.
“Who was it, Christie?”
“I dinna ken, for my pairt!”
Mrs. Gatty came out of the house.
“A handsome young fellow, I hope, Christie?” resumed Lord Ipsden.
“Ye maun ask Flucker,” was the reply. “I could no tak muckle notice, ye ken,” putting her hand before her eye, and half smiling.