“Aye, I recognize him now,” said Mr. Mackenzie.
“And you say they are drawing him hither?” inquired Sir William incredulously, turning to his niece.
“Aye, and why not?” she replied brightly, turning to the others. “They should carry him on their shoulders, for he deserves all homage.”
“And ’tis said the Scots are not demonstrative,” ejaculated Mr. Mackenzie, as another burst of applause and cheers, followed by laughter, reached their ears.
“You hear how demonstrative they can be when occasion demands enthusiasm,” replied Lady Glencairn stanchly, “when genius knocks at the door of their hearts. See how Edinburgh has utterly lost control of its conservative old self, and all over the poetic genius of Robert Burns.”
“True, he has indeed stirred the hardest-hearted Scot by his fascinating poetry,” mused Mr. Mackenzie admiringly.
“How I shall love him,” sighed Eppy dreamily. “In sooth I do now,” and she simpered and dropped her eyes like a love-sick school girl.
“And she has never met the man yet!” cried Sir William in amazement. “The woman’s daft,” he muttered, turning away.
“I do wish he would come,” sighed Eppy. “I want to tell him how much I admire him and his poetry. Oh, I have the dearest little speech, that Sibella, my sister, composed, all prepared to say when I am presented to him.” She rolled her eyes up ecstatically.