The young lady in question, who was still standing by the fireplace, flashed him a look of decided annoyance. She seemed greatly perturbed at the enforced delay of the journey. She started violently as she heard Mrs. Burns say, “And I am Mrs. Burns, your lordship.” Then she hurried to the old lady’s side, a startled look in her flashing eyes.
“Mistress Burns of Mossgiel Farm?” she inquired in a trembling voice.
“Yes, my lady,” replied Mrs. Burns. The young lady’s face went white as she walked nervously back to the fireplace.
“My dear Jean, whatever is the matter?” asked Lady Glencairn lazily, as she noticed Jean’s perturbation. “Is there anything in the name of Burns to frighten you?”
“No, your ladyship,” replied Jean falteringly, turning her face away so that her large Gainsborough hat completely shielded her quivering features. “I—I am still a trifle nervous from the upset, that is all.” She seemed strangely agitated.
“Was it not unlucky?” replied Lady Glencairn in her rich vibrating contralto. “’Twill be a most wearisome wait, I fear, but we simply must endure it with the best possible grace,” and she unfastened her long cloak of black velvet and threw it off her shoulders, revealing her matchless form in its tightly fitting gown of amber satin, with all its alluring lines and sinuous curves, to the utmost advantage.
“It willna’ be long noo, your ladyship,” replied Mrs. Burns, smiling complacently. She had quietly left the room while the two were talking, and seeing Souter hovering anxiously around, trying to summon up courage to enter, she had commanded him to go to the fields and tell the lads of the accident, which he had reluctantly done.
“My lads will soon fix it for ye,” she continued proudly. “Robert is a very handy lad, ye ken. He is my eldest son, who has just returned from Mauchline,” she explained loquaciously in answer to Lord Glencairn’s questioning look.