Sometimes Madelon spoke in her native Gaelic, but generally in the dialect of the Lowlands.
'Set them up indeed,' she muttered; 'wha are the Melforts o' Fettercairn, that they should slight you—laoghe mo chri?' she added, softly (calf of my heart). 'What a pity it is ye canna fling at their heads the gold they love, for even a Lowland dog winna yowl gin ye pelt him wi' banes. But you've begun wi' love and marriage, and a gude beginning mak's a gude ending.'
'But we shall be so poor, Nursie Madelon, and I have ruined my poor Lennard,' urged Flora, as the kind woman caressed her.
'They say a kiss and a cup of water mak' but a wersh breakfast,' laughed Madelon; 'but you're no sae puir as that comes to, my darling.'
'Not quite' said Flora, laughing faintly, in turn. 'Yet I have sorely injured my husband's prospects.'
'Tut, tut, my bairn. Ony man can woo, but he weds only whar his weird lies; and so Captain Melfort wedded you, and wha better? Then what is a Lord that we should lippen to him? As long as ye serve a tod ye maun carry his tail? And your father's daughter may carry her head wi' the highest.'
Lennard Melfort now resolved neither verbally nor by letter to have further intercourse with his family at Craigengowan or elsewhere, but before he could make up his mind what to do or could betake him south, as he meant to quit Scotland without delay, on the day subsequent to the stormy interview Madelon announced a visitor, and on a salver brought in a card inscribed—'MR. KENNETH KIPPILAW, W.S.'
CHAPTER III.
THE SPURNED OFFER.
'The family agent from Edinburgh, Flora,' said Lennard, in answer to her inquiring glance. 'Mrs. Melfort,' he added, introducing her to their visitor, who bowed with a critical glance and appreciative smile.