“Say on then,” returned his lordship.
“Send that boy away then, my lord.”
“I prefer having him stay,” said the marquis.
“Not a word shall cross my lips till he’s gone,” persisted Mrs Catanach. “I know him too well! Awa’ wi’ ye, ye deil’s buckie!” she continued, turning to Malcolm; “I ken mair aboot ye nor ye ken aboot yersel’, an’ deil hae ’t I ken o’ guid to you or yours! But I s’ gar ye lauch o’ the vrang side o’ your mou’ yet, my man.”
Malcolm, who had seated himself on the threshold, only laughed and looked reference to his master.
“Your lordship was never in the way of being frightened at a woman,” said Mrs Catanach, with an ugly expression of insinuation.
The marquis shrugged his shoulders.
“That depends,” he said. Then turning to Malcolm,—“Go along,” he added; “only keep within call. I may want you.”
“Nane o’ yer hearkenin’ at the keye-hole, though, or I s’ lug-mark ye, ye——!” said Mrs Catanach, finishing the sentence none the more mildly that she did it only in her heart.
“I wadna hae ye believe a’ ’at she says, my lord,” said Malcolm, with a significant smile, as he turned to creep away.