"That's lady's wine," he said, "so you need not be afraid of it. It's not what I drink myself." He laughed, and, helping himself to a small glass of whisky, he looked across at his visitor.
"Here's to old times and Gordon Maclean!" he said, "the finest fellow that ever kept open house at Rangoon," and he tossed off the whisky at a gulp.
Mona drank the toast, and smiled through a sudden and blinding mist of tears. It was meat and drink to her to hear her father's praise even on lips like these.
"Come, come, don't fret," said the Colonel kindly. "He was a fine fellow, as I say, but I think he knew the way to heaven all the same."
"I am quite sure of that."
"That's right, that's right. Where are you stopping—the Towers?—Balnamora?"
"No, no; I am staying at Borrowness, with my cousin Miss Simpson."
He stared at her blankly.
"Miss Simpson?" he said, "Rachel Simpson!" His jaw dropped, and, throwing back his head on the top of his chair, he burst into an unpleasant laugh.
"Your father was a rich man, though he died young," he said, recovering himself suddenly. "He must have left you a tidy little portion."