“We?” he questioned. “You and Breadalbane have little to complain of—I dinna call to mind any misfortune in your branch.”
There was a note of bitterness in his voice; he could not forget that while he had been living in a Dutch garret his cousin Breadalbane had managed to keep even with every government and come out at the end with unimpaired estates and a title as good as his own.
The Countess understood this and smiled.
“Dinna forget that we are Campbells, too,” she said. “And we hae had many wrongs frae the Hielands.” She tilted the tea-urn with half-shut eyes—“Particularly the Macdonalds,” she added.
Argyll looked at her a second.
“Does Breadalbane think they willna’ come in?” he asked.
“Cousin, he is sure of it—vera few will.”
“Ah!” Argyll gave a luxurious little sigh of satisfaction. “I thought so—I had orders to quarter my regiment at Dunblane—and quietly.”
“Orders frae the Master of Stair?”
“Yes.”