“H’m,” says he; “ye come a wee thing ahint-hand, Mr. Balfour. The bird’s flaen—we hae letten her out.”
“Miss Drummond is set free?” I cried.
“Achy!” said he. “What would we keep her for, ye ken? To hae made a steer about the bairn would has pleased naebody.”
“And where’ll she be now?” says I.
“Gude kens!” says Doig, with a shrug.
“She’ll have gone home to Lady Allardyce, I’m thinking,” said I.
“That’ll be it,” said he.
“Then I’ll gang there straight,” says I.
“But ye’ll be for a bite or ye go?” said he.
“Neither bite nor sup,” said I. “I had a good wauch of milk in by Ratho.”