Mr. Traquair rose briskly to his feet. "Ten pound!" he exclaimed.
"Only ten pound," she wheedled.
"My dear," he said, "I don't see where you're to raise another matter o' saxpence this month."
"But I've promised the ten pound on my honor," she said. "Would you have me break my word to a servant?"
"Well—well," temporized Mr. Traquair, "I'll have another look at the books. Mind, I'm not saying it can be done—unless you'll sell a bit timber here and yont—"
"Dear man," she said, "full well ye know it's not mine to sell. Then you're to let me have the ten pound?"
"If I were to employ a wheedler," said Mr. Traquair, "I'd have no choice 'twixt you and Satan. Mind, I make no promises. Ten pound is a prodeegious sum o' money, when ye hay'na got it."
"Not later than to-morrow, then," said Miss McTavish, as though to cap a promise that had been made to her. "I'm obliged to you, Traquair, deeply obliged."
IV
But it was not the matter of the ten pounds that worried Traquair as he climbed into his pony cart and drove slowly through the castle policies to the gate. Indeed, the lofty gates had not been closed behind him before he had forgotten all about them. That The McTavish was not The McTavish alone occupied his attention. And when he perceived the cause of the trouble, strolling beside the lofty ring fence of stone that shielded the castle policies from impertinent curiosity, it was in anything but his usual cheerful voice that he hailed him.