"Kings without kingdoms? Well," said Ian, "they don't amount to much, do they?"
"They do not." The two moved together to the table and the chairs by it. "You are free of them, Ian?"
"What is it to be free of them?"
"Well, to be plain, out of the Stewart cark and moil! Pretender, Chevalier de St. George, or uncrowned king—let it drift away like the dead leaf it is!"
"A dead leaf. Is it a dead leaf?... I wonder!... But you are usually right, old Steadfast!"
"I see that you will not tell me plainly."
"Are you so anxious? There is nothing to be anxious about."
"Nothing.... What is 'nothing'?"
Ian drummed upon the table and whistled "Lillibullero." "Something—nothing. Nothing—something! Old Steadfast, you are a sight for sair een! They say you make the best of lairds! Every cotter sings of just ways!"
"My father was a good laird. I would not shatter the tradition. Come with me to Edinburgh and London, on that journey I wrote you of!"