“And is—” I hardly knew how to ask what I wanted to know. Flora helped me. I think she saw I needed it.
“Was the wedding very grand, Sam?”
“Whose wedding, Miss Flora? There’s been nae weddings at Brocklebank, but Ben Dykes and auld Bet Donnerthwaite, and I wish Ben joy on’t. I am fain he’s no me.”
“Nay, you are fain you are no he,” laughed Angus.
“I’m fain baith ways, Maister Angus. The Laird ’d hae his table ill served gin Ben tried his haun.”
“But what do you mean, Sam?” cried I. “Has not—”
I stopped again, but Sam helped me out himself.
“Na, Miss Cary, there’s nae been siccan a thing, the Lord be thanked! She took pepper in the nose, and went affa gude week afore it suld ha’e been; and a gude riddance o’ ill rubbish, say I. Mrs Kezia and Miss Sophy, they are at hame, a’ richt: and Miss Hatty comes back in a twa-three days, without thae young leddies suld gang till London toun, and gin they do she’ll gang wi’ ’em.”
“Father is not married?” I exclaimed.
“He’s better aff,” said Sam, determinedly. “I make na count o’ thae hizzies.”