The next day Wallis came to see Malcolm and take him to the tailor’s. They talked about the guests of the previous evening.
“There’s a great change on Lord Meikleham,” said Malcolm.
“There is that,” said Wallis. “I consider him much improved. But you see he’s succeeded; he’s the earl now, and Lord Liftore—and a menseful, broad-shouldered man to the boot of the bargain. He used to be such a windle-straw!”
In order to speak good English, Wallis now and then, like some Scotch people of better education, anglicized a word ludicrously.
“Is there no news of his marriage?” asked Malcolm, adding, “they say he has great property.”
“My love she’s but a lassie yet,” said Wallis, “—though she too has changed quite as much as my lord.”
“Who are you speaking of?” asked Malcolm, anxious to hear the talk of the household on the matter.
“Why, Lady Lossie, of course. Anybody with half an eye can see as much as that.”
“Is it settled then?”
“That would be hard to say. Her ladyship is too like her father: no one can tell what may be her mind the next minute. But, as I say, she’s young, and ought to have her fling first—so far, that is, as we can permit it to a woman of her rank. Still, as I say, anybody with half an eye can see the end of it all: he’s for ever hovering about her. My lady, too, has set her mind on it, and for my part I can’t see what better she can do. I must say I approve of the match. I can see no possible objection to it.”