“Tut, mam, a man knows what he’s talkin’ about by the time he’s seventy, doesn’t he? A man has a right to his own thoughts; now, hasn’t he? I tell ye, it was insultin’, most insultin’!”
“Aye, it’s so,” admitted Maggie ruefully, “but, father——”
“He’s always interferin’ with your private affairs, he is,” Gabriel interrupted, heedless of Maggie’s attempts to change the conversation. “At best he’s nothin’ but an absentee’s gentleman, now, isn’t he?”
“No, I think; I’m thinkin’, dad, he is himself a gentleman,” Maggie contradicted gently.
“Pooh! no gentleman at all! He’s the lad’s tool, given the education of a gentleman, taught to carry himself like a gentleman, an’ livin’ in the landlord’s house in his absence; but for all that he’s not a gentleman, naught but an upper servant, an’ Sir Evan treats him so. I’m thinkin’ a very self-respectin’ man wouldn’t be takin’ such a position nowadays, now, would he?”
At the sound of a horse’s hoofs upon the road Gabriel turned to the window with eager curiosity, his head travelling the width of the latticed light.
“There’s the young master ridin’ by now!” he exclaimed.
As she contemplated the back of Gabriel’s head, his pink ears protruding independently from the sides of his bald, shiny pate as if they, too, had opinions of their own, Maggie’s eyes gathered anxiety. Gabriel turned to the hearth again.
“Well, mam?”
“Father, these are dangerous new ideas ye’re gettin’,” she answered.