"Indeed it is not," said Macfarren, earnestly. "It is a magnificent baronial hall. I have been there myself, and," he added, feeling obliged to say something in defense of Sir Walter Scott's character, "Sir Walter is a—er—a most respectable person."
"'Tis likely," replied Lady Marian, half scornfully, "and this Abbotsford, no doubt, is well furnished with household stuff he ravaged from English homes over the border. I think I have heard of him—and that he is but little better than a border ruffian."
Macfarren, seeing it was impossible to rehabilitate Sir Walter's character, wisely refrained from further efforts in that direction.
"Thou art an Englishman, I see," she said, after a moment, "although thy speech is not like that about King's Lyndon. Mayhap thou art from London. Thy sober dress makes me think thou art from the Middle Temple."
This was extremely fortunate for Macfarren, who feared at every moment she would discover he was not of noble blood, and that therefore he should be scorned of her.
"I am a barrister," he answered eagerly.
Marian smiled sweetly: "Some ladies of rank condemn lawyers for mere clerks and scriveners, but my father, the Lord Howard de Winstanley, tells me that at court, Queen Bess doth treat them like lords and gentlemen—and, although they rank not with the nobility, yet are they equal with the gentry and the churchmen. Hast thou been to London ever?"
"I was there only three weeks ago," said Macfarren promptly.
Marian's eyes sparkled. "How doth the queen? Didst thou go to court? Are the ruffs and fardingales as huge as ever? How of my Lord Essex, in Ireland?"
"The queen was very well," said Macfarren.