"So you have seen her again?" said he.
"Who told you so, Ian?" I asked.
"Red Angus M'Alpine, who was with us at the tragedy last night."
"I never told Angus that I recognised my unknown in the fair Spanish dancer."
"Angus, the best huntsman between Strathalladale and Strathearn, is not so blind as a bat; and, like many smart persons in this world, can see things without being told of them. He said, that you seemed to see nothing but her figure, and to hear nothing but her voice; to be all ear and eye—to devour every motion, and that you were a lost man. 'A lost man! Angus Roy,' said I; 'tuts! think you my cousin, Rollo of the Craig, will forget that he is a gentleman of birth and coat-armour, and that she is but a Spanish posture-maker, who exhibits her painted limbs at so much per night to all the boors of Glückstadt. A pretty wife she would make to take home to Cromartie Firth, and to the old tower of Craigrollo! I wonder if the old spoon of Sir Ringan would suit her dainty mouth!' And so you see, Philip, I quite laughed Angus out of the notion."
I felt that Ian was laughing a little at me, too; and the quick blood which had suffused my face while he was rallying me, announced that his suspicions were well founded, and that, if I was not fairly in love with the beautiful danzador, I was very near it.
"Take care, Philip," said Ian, whose keen Highland eyes had been regarding me with a half smile under his bonnet; "and beware, for there must be something shameful about her."
"Shameful!" I reiterated, shocked at a word so disrespectful; "shameful, Ian!"
"Immoral, then—which you will," continued Ian Dhu a little doggedly, "or why the d—l does your damsel conceal herself so closely? I do not half like that beetle-browed fellow, Roskilde, either."
"I dislike him wholly, and distrust him, too."