“Oh, nothing, nothing!” she hastily replied, frightened by what she had said.
“Everything concerning Mr. Burns, my husband’s protégé, and my friend, my dear friend, I may call him, does interest me mightily, Miss McKay. Pray tell me the story connected with the poem, if you care to!” and Lady Glencairn turned her glittering eyes, which were narrowed dangerously, upon the face of the crestfallen Eppy.
Sir William gave a snort of anger. “Ye couldn’t stop her; she is dying to tell all she knows!” he said crustily.
Eppy cleared her throat vigorously. “Well, it was this way,” she began confidentially. “Mr. Burns was sitting behind a lady in Kirk, one Sabbath, who had on a new bonnet, of which she seemed most proud. As he was admiring its beauty, his keen eyes detected this horrid little animal crawling over the gauze and lace.”
“How fascinating,” murmured Mr. Mackenzie in mocking rapture.
“And it immediately inspired his pen to write the verses which have made such a sensation in town,” concluded Eppy, looking eagerly at her listeners for some look or word of approval.
“What a—a creepy story,” said Lady Glencairn, with a little shiver of repulsion.
She turned to her quickly. “’Tis said, my dear, and I ask you not to repeat it, for I promised not to tell, that the lady in question was Agnes McLehose, the beautiful grass widow, who is such an ardent admirer of Mr. Burns, you know.”
“Really!” murmured Lady Glencairn coldly.
“And the airs she put on!” cried Eppy, with lofty indignation. “Why, do you know——”