Old Katie had gone into the dressing room to stir the fire, which was to warm the whole suite. Taking advantage of her absence the housekeeper sat down beside Lady Vincent's bed, and, while pouring out her coffee, stooped and nodded and whispered:
"Aye! and sma' blame to your leddyship, gin ye never receive the likes of her."
"What do you know of Mrs. Dugald that you should say so?" was Claudia's cold question. For alas, poor lady, she was in sad straits! She had need to glean knowledge of her dangerous enemy from every possible quarter; but—she felt that she must do so without committing herself, or compromising her dignity.
"Nay, I ken naething! I dinna like the quean! that's all!" said the woman, growing all at once reserved.
"She is the widow of the late Honorable Kenneth Dugald?" said Claudia, in a tone that might be received either as a statement or a question.
"Sae it is said. I ken naething anent it," replied the dame, taking up the tray of empty cups. "Will your leddyship ha' anything more?"
"No, thank you, Mrs. Murdock," replied Claudia, in a very sweet tone, for she felt that in her pride of place she had repulsed the offered confidence of an honest old creature who might have been of great use to her.
"Will I sit wi' your leddyship?" inquired the dame.
"No, I am much obliged to you. I must rest now; but I should be glad if you would come to me later in the day."
"Yes, me leddy," answered the dame, somewhat mollified, as she courtesied and withdrew from the room, leaving Lady Vincent to the care of her own faithful servant.