“I am afraid we cannot help it,” returned the laird, arresting his step. “There used to be a passage connecting the two houses, but for some reason or other—I never heard what—it was closed in my father’s time.”
“He must have been an old fool!” remarked the visitor.
“My lord!”
“I said your father must have been an old fool,” repeated his lordship testily.
“You speak of my husband!” said Mistress Warlock, drawing herself up with dignity.
“I can’t help that. I didn’t give you away. Let’s have some supper, will you? I want a tumbler of toddy, and without something to eat it might make me drunk.”
Lady Joan sat silent, with a look half of contempt, half of mischievous enjoyment on her handsome face. She had too often to suffer from her father’s rudeness not to enjoy its bringing him into a scrape. But the laird was sharper than she thought him, and seeing both the old man’s condition and his mistake, humoured the joke. His mother rose, trembling with indignation. He gave her his arm, and conducted her to a stair which ascended immediately from the kitchen, whispering to her on the way, that the man was the worse of drink, and he must not quarrel with him. She retired without leave-taking. He then called Cosmo and Agnes, who were talking together in a low voice at the other end of the kitchen, and taking them to Grizzie in the spare room, told them to help her, that she might the sooner come and get the supper ready.
“I am afraid, my lord,” he said, returning, “we are but poorly provided for such guests as your lordship, but we will do what we can.”
“A horrible country!” growled his lordship; “but look you, I don’t want jaw—I want drink.”
“What drink would your lordship have? If it be in my power—”