'Stuff—the old story, my dear sir. Who cares about Scotland or her interests?'
'Ay, who indeed!' exclaimed old Kippilaw, growing warm.
'She is content to be a mere province now.'
'The more shame for her—a province that contributes all her millions to the Imperial Exchequer and gets nothing in return.'
'A sure sign she doesn't want anything,' replied the peer, with one of his silent laughs. 'I wish you would not worry me with this patriotic "rot," Kippilaw—excuse the vulgarity of the phrase; but so long as I can get my rents out of Craigengowan and Finella, I don't care a jot if all the rest, Scotland with all its rights and wrongs, history, poetry and music, was ten leagues under the sea!'
So thus, for two reasons, political and personal, the 'Fettercairns' just then did not go to 'town.'
On the terrace this very afternoon Lady Fettercairn was watching Finella and Dulcie, linked arm in arm conversing apart from all, and her smooth brow clouded; for she knew well that the fact of Hammersley owing his life to Florian MacIan would make—as it did—a new tie between the two girls.
'You see, Shafto,' said she, 'how more than ever does Finella put that girl out of her place. Though most useful as she is to me, always pleasant and irreproachably lady-like, I think I must get rid of her.'
'Not yet—not yet, grandmother,' said Shafto, who did not just then wish this climax; 'do give her another chance.'
'To please you, I will, my dear boy; but I fear I am rash.'