But Lady Florimel took no heed. She had already turned and was going down the stair. Malcolm followed in silence; nor did another word from Mrs Catanach overtake them.
Arrived in the street, Florimel restored his pipes to Duncan —who, letting the dog go, at once proceeded to fill the bag— and, instead of continuing her way to the harbour, turned back, accompanied by Malcolm, Demon, and Lady Stronach’s Strathspey.
“What a horrible woman that is!” she said with a shudder.
“Ay is she; but I doobt she wad be waur gien she didna brak oot that gait whiles,” rejoined Malcolm.
“How do you mean?”
“It frichts fowk at her, an’ maybe sometimes pits ’t oot o’ her pooer to du waur. Gien ever she seek to mak it up wi’ ye, my leddy, I wad hae little to say till her, gien I was you.”
“What could I have to say to a low creature like that?”
“Ye wadna ken what she micht be up till, or hoo she micht set aboot it, my leddy. I wad hae ye mistrust her a’thegither. My daddy has a fine moral nose for vermin, an’ he canna bide her, though he never had a glimp o’ the fause face o’ her, an’ in trowth never spak till her.”
“I will tell my father of her. A woman like that is not fit to live amongst civilized people.”
“Ye’re richt there, my leddy; but she wad only gang some ither gait amo’ the same. Of coorse ye maun tell yer father, but she’s no fit for him to tak ony notice o’.”