The girl returned with a scared face, and the news that her mistress was not in her room. The laird’s loose mouth dropped looser.
“Miss Galbraith did us the honour to sleep at our house last night,” said Mr. Sclater deliberately.
“The devil!” cried the laird, relieved. “Why!—What!—Are you aware of what you are saying, sir?”
“Perfectly; and of what I saw too. A blow looks bad on a lady’s face.”
“Good heavens! the little hussey dared to say I struck her?”
“She did not say so; but no one could fail to see some one had. If you do not know who did it, I do.”
“Send her home instantly, or I will come and fetch her,” cried the laird.
“Come and dine with us if you want to see her. For the present she remains where she is. You want her to marry Fergus Duff; she prefers my ward, Gilbert Galbraith, and I shall do my best for them.”
“She is under age,” said the laird.
“That fault will rectify itself as fast in my house as in yours,” returned the minister. “If you invite the publicity of a legal action, I will employ counsel, and wait the result.”