Jean nervously clutched at the neck of her gown, her face alternately flushing and paling. “Your son is here now?” she asked eagerly, turning to Mrs. Burns.
“Aye, he’s out yonder in the fields,” she answered simply.
“Oh, then you know the young man?” interrogated Lady Glencairn, glancing sharply at Jean.
“Yes, I know him,” she answered with averted gaze. “We met occasionally in Mauchline at dancing school, where we fell acquainted.”
Lady Glencairn looked at her with half-closed eyes for a moment, then she smilingly said, “And I’ll wager your love for coquetting prompted you to make a conquest of the innocent rustic, eh, Jean?”
Jean tossed her head angrily and walked to the window.
“Lady Glencairn, you are pleased to jest,” she retorted haughtily.
“There, there, Jean, you’re over prudish. I vow ’twould be no crime,” her ladyship calmly returned. “I’ll wager this young farmer was a gay Lothario while in Mauchline,” she continued mockingly.
“Oh, no, your ladyship,” interrupted Mrs. Burns simply. “He was a flax dresser.”