'Besides, she has a lover, I believe, whose likeness she wears in a locket; and though she may be content to throw him over for rank and wealth with you, surely you would not care to receive a second-hand affection.'
'How your tongue goes on, grandmother!' said Shafto, greatly irritated; 'you are like Finella's pad Fern when it gets the bit between its teeth.'
'Thank you! But this lover or cousin, or whatever he is, of whom Miss Carlyon actually once spoke to me—who is he, and where is he?'
'How the deuce should I know!' exclaimed Shafto, growing pale; 'gone to the dogs, I suppose, as I always thought he would.'
'It was of him that madwoman spoke?'
'Yes, Madelon Galbraith. He was named Florian after his aunt.'
'Miss MacIan.'
That was enough for Lady Fettercairn, who, dropping that subject, returned with true feminine persistence to the other.
'I don't like this sort of thing, I repeat, Shafto.'
'What sort of thing?'