“Meaning yourself, Hector?”
“Ou aye, there’s ever mysel’, John; forbye, there’s ithers, ye ken——”
“Begging your pardon, sir,” said the Corporal, taking his hat, “I’ll step along, then, if I may, your honour?” And at a nod from Sir John he departed, closing the door carefully behind him, which Sir John promptly locked and bolted.
“I say, there’s ithers, John!” repeated Sir Hector, seating himself by the open casement.
“Why, there is Corporal Robert; other friends have I none, Hector.”
“Dinna be a muckle fule, John! Ye ken vera weel there’s Mrs. Saund—— I mean the.... Her, for one, and—abune a’, lad, there’s that sweet, gentle maid——”
“Whom can you mean, Hector?”
“I mean Rose, an’ weel ye ken it.”
“Rose doth not exist.”
“Well, Herminia, then. She loves ye, Johnnie.”