“And I’ll gie ye a toast now,” she said, when her turn came—“Scotland’s Rights,” raising her glass of water with a dramatic gesture.
“Dod! the auld body’s got an arm on her,” whispered Dr Brash to Colin Cleland, seeing revealed the pink plump flesh between the short sleeves and the top of the mittens.
They drank the sentiment—the excuse for the glass was good enough, though in these prosaic days a bit mysterious.
“What are they?” asked the Provost.
“What are what?” said The Macintosh.
“Scotland’s Rights.”
“I’ll leave it to my frien’ Mr Dyce to tell ye,” she said quickly, for the lawyer had now joined the group. “It’ll aiblins cost ye 6s. 8d., but for that I daresay he can gie ye them in the Laiten. But—but I hope we’re a’ friens here?” she exclaimed with a hurried glance round her company. “I hope we have nane o’ thae aboaminable English amang us. I canna thole them! It has been a sair dooncome for Scotland since ever she drew in wi’ them.” For a space she dwelt on themes of rather antique patriotism that made her audience smile, for in truth in this burgh town we see no difference between Scotch and English: in our calculations there are only the lucky folk, born, bred, and dwelling within the sound of Will Oliver’s bell, and the poor souls who have to live elsewhere, all equally unfortunate, whether they be English, Irish, or Scots.
“But here I’m keepin’ you gentlemen frae your dancin’,” she said, interrupting herself, and consternation fell on her company, for sets were being formed for a quadrille, and her innuendo was unmistakable. She looked from one to the other of them as if enjoying their discomfiture.
“I—I—I haven’t danced, myself, for years,” said the Provost, which was true; and Colin Cleland, sighing deeply in his prominent profile and hiding his feet, protested quadrilles were beyond him. The younger men quickly remembered other engagements and disappeared. “Will you do me the honour?” said Dr Brash—good man! a gentle hero’s heart was under that wrinkled waistcoat.
“Oh!” said The Macintosh, rising to his arm, “you’ll be sure and no’ to swing me aff my feet, for I’m but a frail and giddy creature.”