“Quarrel? Not I, lad! I’m as peaceable a body as ever lived; but tak’ my advice—don’t wherret yoursel’ about Helen Perowne. She’s not made for ye.”
“Sir!”
“Hoot, laddie, in a passion again! I tell ye you’re much too good for such a body as she. I ken she’s handsome enough for an angel; but what’s all that if she don’t care a twistle o’ the finger for ye?” Bertie Hilton frowned heavily and smoked furiously; while, when the old merchant thrust the whiskey decanter towards him, he snatched it up, poured out half a tumbler full, and had stretched out his hand to take it and gulp it down, when, to his surprise and anger, old Stuart snatched the tumbler away, poured half of the spirit back into the decanter, and then filled up the tumbler with water.
“Not while I’m sitting by ye, Bertie Hilton,” said the old man. “I like my whuskie and I like to see a fren’ enjoy his drappie wi’ me; but it must be a drappie. When I see a man making a fool o’ himsel’ by taking more than is good, I just stop him if I can, as I stopped you.”
The young man’s face flushed, and an angry remark was about to issue from his lips, when the ridiculous and friendly sides of the question presented themselves to him, and instead of going into a fit of temper consequent upon his irritable state, he burst into a hearty fit of laughter.
“Hah! That’s better, my lad,” said the old merchant, smiling in his dry, grim fashion. “I like that. Ye’re an officer and ye know how to command yourself as well as your men. Now then, sit down and sup your whuskie and smoke like a man.”
“You shall be obeyed, sir,” said Hilton, good-humouredly.
“That’s right, laddie. Tak’ your misfortunes like a man. I know it’s hard to bear, and nothing wherrets a man more than seeing a lassie play wi’ others before his very een, when a’ the time she has been leading him to believe she cares for him alone?”
“Would it be a very difficult task to you, Mr Stuart, to leave my private affairs alone?” said Hilton, quietly.
“Oh, ay, I’ll leave them alone if ye’ll only be sensible and act like a mon. Bertie Hilton, ye’re a big mon, and a captain in Her Majesty’s service, and ye’re been acting like a weak boy.”