“And we’ve heard you’re in trouble up bye, and Mr. Archie, a fine quiet lad, sent out o’ the house in disgrace.”
“Mr. Rankin,” said Evelyn, “you really must excuse me for saying that any gossip about my house——”
He held up his hand, bidding her to silence, and made a gesture as of putting her back in her chair. “Whisht,” he said, “never mind that;” then bending forward, in a tone so low as to be almost a whisper: “It’s a’ lees,” he said, “it’s not true; it’s just a’ a parcel of lees.”
“What do you know about it?” cried Evelyn, greatly excited. “For God’s sake, if you know anything, tell me,” she added, forgetting her precautions in the shock. What use was there in pretending that his information was not correct? He did not ask anything: he knew.
“I will do that,” said Rankin. “There is a young gentleman at the house that is called Mr. Sawmaries, a very queer name.”
“Saumarez—yes—but he is gone.”
“Oh, he is gone? to rejoin the ither no doubt. I might have expected that.”
“What other?” cried Evelyn, in great excitement.
“There was another,” said Rankin, “but not at the house; not a person, maadam, to be presented to you—though I was muckle astonished to hear of him at the ball: but nae doubt he just slippit in, favoured by yon lad, when nobody was looking. Well, as I was saying, there was another, a shabby creature, just a bit little disreputable Jew, or something of that kind. What gave me a kind of insight into the Saumarez lad (that was a clever laddie and no an ill callant, but ill guided) was his trying to foist off this creature upon me as Maister Johnson of St. Chad’s—a mistaken man and very confused in his philology, but still, I have nae reason to doubt, a gentleman, and maybe a kind of a scholar too, in his way.”
“Johnson! yes: but I have seen him; he was asked to the ball; I never doubted—”