'Because I did not come here for money.'
'For what then?'
'Honour—like my chief and fosterer Mac Innon.'
'Honour?' reiterated the incredulous baronet, coolly surveying through his glass the erect figure of the tattered huntsman, from his bonnet to his brogues. 'Oho, of course you have a pedigree like a Welshman, beginning with Adam and ending with yourself.'
'In that case it might be no better than your own; but I am come of a long line of brave men, whose shoes, the son of a Manchester baronet, rich though he be, is not worthy to tie.'
The claret-reddened cheeks of Sir Horace grew pale at this fierce hit, while the stately duchess, the two passé countesses, and all the Highland tabbies of 'good family,' exchanged significant and self-satisfied smiles. The baronet was about to make an impetuous rejoinder, when Clavering said,—
'Sir Horace do, I beg of you, respect the feelings of these people, whose peculiar temper and ideas you cannot understand.'
'Papa, papa!' urged his startled daughter.
'You speak English well—devilish well, indeed, for a Highlander,' said Sir Horace loftily, gulping down his anger; 'how is this?'
'I am all unused to answer questions that are asked in such tones, yet I will satisfy you.'