“You confounded little Amazon!” said her father.
“But what’s to be done about those confounded pipes?” she resumed. “You can’t allow such people to serve you so! Return your presents, indeed!—Suppose I undertake the business?”
“By all means. What will you do?”
“Make them take them, of course. It would be quite horrible never to be quits with the old lunatic.”
“As you please, puss.”
“Then you put yourself in my hands, papa?”
“Yes; only you must mind what you’re about, you know.”
“That I will, and make them mind too,” she answered, and the subject was dropped.
Lady Florimel counted upon her influence with Malcolm, and his again with his grandfather; but careful of her dignity, she would not make direct advances; she would wait an opportunity of speaking to him. But, although she visited the sand-hill almost every morning, an opportunity was not afforded her. Meanwhile, the state of Duncan’s bag and of Malcolm’s hand forbidding, neither pipes were played nor gun was fired to arouse marquis or burgess. When a fortnight had thus passed, Lady Florimel grew anxious concerning the justification of her boast, and the more so that her father seemed to avoid all reference to it.