“Never mind me. Give me that dish; I’ll take it in: you can go for another,” said Malcolm, laying his pipes in a safe spot.
“You can’t go into the dining-room that figure,” said Wallis, who was in the Bellair livery.
“This is how I waited on my lord,” returned Malcolm, “and this is how I’ll wait on my lady.”
Wallis hesitated. But there was that about the fisher-fellow was too much for him. As he spoke, Malcolm took the dish from his hands, and with it walked into the dining-room.
There one reconnoitring glance was sufficient. The butler was at the sideboard opening a champagne bottle. He had cut wire and strings, and had his hand on the cork as Malcolm walked up to him. It was a critical moment, yet he stopped in the very article, and stared at the apparition.
“I’m Lady Lossie’s man from Lossie House. I’ll help you to wait,” said Malcolm.
To the eyes of the butler he looked a savage. But there he was in the room with the dish in his hands, and speaking at least intelligibly; the cork of the champagne bottle was pushing hard against his palm, and he had no time to question. He peeped into Malcolm’s dish.
“Take it round, then,” he said. So Malcolm settled into the business of the hour.
It was some time, after he knew where she was, before he ventured to look at his sister: he would have her already familiarised with his presence before their eyes met. That crisis did not arrive during dinner.
Lord Liftore was one of the company, and so, to Malcolm’s pleasure, for he felt in him an ally against the earl, was Florimel’s mysterious friend.