'Very good—very good indeed; that is well! We generally think in Scotland that a little knowledge of the law is useful, as it teaches the laird to haud his ain; but I forgot that you are southland bred, and born too—the more is the pity—and can't understand me.'
Shafto did not understand him, but thought that his time spent in Lawyer Carlyon's office had not been thrown away now; experience there had 'put him up to a trick or two.'
'I shall write to Craigengowan by the first post,' said Mr. Kippilaw after another of those thoughtful pauses during which he attentively eyed his visitor. 'Lord and Lady Fettercairn—like myself now creeping up the vale of years—(Hope they may soon see the end of it! thought Shafto) will, I have no doubt, be perfectly satisfied by the sequence and tenor of the documents you have brought me that you are their grandson—the son of the expatriated Lennard—and when I hear from them I shall let you know the result without delay. You are putting up at—what hotel?'
'At the Duke of Rothesay, in Princes Street.'
'Ah! very well.'
'Thanks; I shall be very impatient to hear.'
'And your cousin—he will, of course, go with you to Craigengowan?'
Shafto hesitated, and actually coloured, as Florian could detect.
'What are your intentions or views?' Mr. Kippilaw asked the latter.
'He failed to pass for the army,' said Shafto bluntly and glibly, 'so I don't know what he means to do now. I believe that he scarcely knows himself.'