“Mr Stuart!”
“And one never sees her without Captain Hilton ahint her.”
“Mr Stuart, I was not aware that I was answerable to you for my conduct,” exclaimed the young officer, hotly.
“Nay—nay—nay—dinna—don’t be fashed, laddie, I was vexed to see ye rinning after a lassie who will throw ye over for the next man she sees—that’s a’—”
“Mr Stuart, I will not listen to anything in Miss Perowne’s disparagement!” cried the young man hotly. “How dare you speak to me like this!”
“Have a cigar, laddie?” said the old Scot, drily. “They’re verra good, and they’ll soothe ye down better than anything I ken.”
Hilton glared at him angrily. “There, there, there, let me have my say, laddie. I rather like ye, Hilton, though ye are only a soldier; so don’t fly in a passion with an old man. Tak’ a cigar.”
Hilton hesitated, but finally took the cigar, lit it, and began to smoke.
“I ken weel what’s wrong,” said the old man; “but never heed it, mon. It mak’s ye sore to-day, but ye’ll soon get over it. I’ve seen ivery thing that’s gone on sin the lassies have been here. Try a drappie o’ that whuskie, laddie; that and yon cigar will mak’ ye forget all about the trouble wi’ the girl.”
“Mr Stuart, I must request you to be silent upon this question, unless you wish to quarrel.”