With a little silvery, timid laugh Mary walked quickly toward her. “I’m no afraid, my lady,” she replied quietly, but her heart was beating very fast, nevertheless, as she stood before the great lady, who was watching the flower-like face, with the delicate pink color coming and going, with such apparent admiration.
“That’s our Highland Mary,” triumphantly cried Souter, who had just come upon the scene.
“Oh, indeed,” replied her ladyship brightly. “So you are Highland Mary.”
“Yes, my lady,” answered Mary with a quaint little courtesy.
“Isn’t she a dear,” said Lady Glencairn aloud to her husband.
She turned to Robert, who was proudly watching Mary, with eyes aglow with love and happiness. “No wonder, Mr. Burns,” she said, a sigh involuntarily escaping her as she noted his rapt gaze, “that you have sought to portray in song and verse the sweet loveliness of this fair maiden.” Then she turned suddenly to Mary.
“You’re a very pretty child,” she said carelessly. “But I suppose you know that well ere this.” She laughed cynically and turned away.
“She isna used to such compliments, your ladyship,” said Robert, noticing the embarrassed blush that mounted to Mary’s cheek. “She’s o’er shy, ye ken.”
“That’s the kind we raise in the Highlands,” declared Souter with a satisfied air.
“Come, James, it grows late,” wearily said Lady Glencairn, taking her husband’s arm. “And here is the coach.” As the vehicle with its prancing black horses champing restlessly at their bits drew up to the gate, she turned to Mary and said condescendingly, “Good-by, child; I suppose some day, when Mr. Burns is the Bard of Scotland, we’ll see you in town with him. Be sure to come and see me at Glencairn Hall.”