There was a sudden hush, a movement of excitement, and the group around the door fell back, and everybody made way for the most important guest of the evening, who for the last hour had been the all-absorbing topic of conversation. Lady Glencairn started violently, as she heard the name announced. For a brief instant she closed her eyes, feeling faint, and trembling in an ecstasy of joy. He was here at last! Her heart throbbed so violently it stifled her.
“How noble he looks!” exclaimed Eppy in an awestruck tone, as she watched the tall figure in a polite but determined manner coolly elbowing a passage among the heaving bare shoulders, fat arms, the long trains, and bulging bustles and paniers that seriously obstructed his way. “And to think that man is but a lowly-bred peasant,” observed Mr. Mackenzie, as he watched him bending low over the hand of their hostess.
“A man’s a man, for all that!” murmured her ladyship, worshipful pride in her voice and in her dazzling eyes, as she watched him approach, bowing right and left. She drew herself up with the conscious air of a beauty who knows she is nearly perfect, and with a smile she extended her jeweled hand. “I’m so glad to see you here to-night,” she says sweetly, although a glance like fire seen through smoke leaps from beneath her silky eyelashes, but Robert saw it not; he was bending low over her fair hand. “Welcome back to Edinburgh!” she continued, pressing his hand warmly.
A bright smile lighted up his dark visage. “Thank ye,” he returned simply. Then he turned to Lord Glencairn with outstretched hand. “My lord!” he said warmly, “how glad, how delighted, I am to again press the hand of my patron, my friend.”
“The pleasure is mutual, my lad!” he replied. A kindly smile lighted up his noble face, as he perceived the ruddy glow of health in the full cheeks, the flashing eyes of the young poet. “Ah, you return to us looking bonnier than ever,” he continued. “Your triumphant tour through the north with its Highland chieftains and lords at your feet, has not turned your head after all.”
Robert laughed good-naturedly. “Not a bit of it,” he replied frankly.
“Let me present Mr. Henry Mackenzie,” introduced Lady Glencairn at this juncture.
Robert advanced eagerly to meet him, his hand extended, his eyes flashing with delight. “The author of the ‘Man of Feeling,’ the first book I loved and admired years ago!” he exclaimed in direct frankness. “It is an unexpected pleasure, sir.”
“The pleasure is mutual,” replied Mr. Mackenzie, flushing at the compliment. “We witnessed your triumphant progress up Princes Street, and were delighted at the ovation you received.”
Robert laughed happily. “Was it not wonderful?” he answered in his sonorous voice, which had such a thrilling richness in it. “I could scarcely realize it was the once poor, humble Robbie Burns they were cheering. I am indeed happy; my popularity has not begun to wane yet.” He regarded the great publisher with kindling eyes. “That I am so favorably known, is due to your kindly articles in your inestimable paper, The Lounger, and your unbiased criticism of my poems, which brought me before the public, and I thank you most heartily for that generous criticism which was so judicious withal.” A little murmur of approval from his listeners greeted his last words.