"Ah, yes," said Rohallion, laughing, "I remember that the Polignacs spoke maliciously of her dancing Ecossaises with him at the balls of Madame d'Ossun."
"We went with him to Corri's Concerts, which are led by Signor Stablini, and also to see the storming of Seringapatam, opposite the New College, 'the wonder of the English metropolis, for the last twelve months,' as the papers have it. I have brought your ladyship the 'Last Minstrel,' the new poem of that clever gentleman, Mr. Walter Scott, which has just appeared; Mr. Constable's shop at the Cross was quite besieged by inquirers for it; and for your lordship I have the Gazettes detailing the captures of Martinique and Guadaloupe."
"I thank you—they will be a rare treat for me and for old John Girvan, who enjoys the reversion of all my military literature."
"At Edinburgh we had quite a chapter of accidents. One of Lord Eglinton's favourite horses came in dead lame at the Leith Races; then my abigail left me abruptly, having gained a prize of two thousand guineas in the State lottery, and with it an offer of marriage from a dissenting minister. A wheel came off the carriage just as we were descending that steep old thoroughfare named the West Bow, and by this accident all our new bonnets from the Gallery of Fashion in the High-street were destroyed: it also caused a fracas between our poor coachman and a lieutenant of the City Guard, who, with his silver epaulettes on, and all the airs of office, was drumming a woman out of town. The fracas caused a three days' detention, as one of the bailies, a democratic grocer, threatened to send our coachman on board the pressing-tender at Leith for contumacy; but ultimately and happily, the name of Lord Eglinton terrified the saucy patch into complaisance. Then we heard of footpads infesting the Lanark-road, but fortunately we had the escort of some of the Scots Greys who were conveying French prisoners to the West Country, so we reached Maybole without any untoward accident."
While the Countess was rehearsing the adventures of her journey, Lord Rohallion, partly oblivious of her and of her daughters, had been absorbed by Flora, in whose soft features he sought in vain for the stern eyebrows, the high nose and cheekbones of her father the colonel.
Lady Rohallion glanced at their ward, from time to time, with mingled satisfaction and interest, as she had certain views regarding her, and these were nothing less than a marriage, a few years hence, between her and Cosmo, the Master, an idea which had strengthened every day she looked towards Ardgour, the well-wooded heights of which were visible from the windows of Rohallion.
"But man proposes, and God disposes," says the proverb. How these views were realized, we shall come in time to see.
All unaware of the plots forming against her in the busy brain of her mother's friend, Flora had already drawn near Quentin, and, surveying him with something of wonder and interest in her fine eyes, she said—
"So you are the little boy of whom I have heard so much in the letters of Lady Rohallion to mamma?"
"I am Quentin Kennedy, Miss Warrender."