Now indeed I saw plainly enough what it was that had procured me the honour of a visit so early from my lady of Lochinvar.
"In this city I have indeed been, my aunt," I replied, "but not with Walter. For I am not Lord of Lochinvar, but only the poor suitor of the King's mercy. And I spent not that which I have not, nor yet can I afford further to burden the estate which may never be mine."
She waved her hand as at a Whig scruple, which good King's folk made light of.
"But what of Walter—you have seen—is it well with the lad?"
She spoke eagerly and laid her hand on my arm.
But after all the business was not mine, and besides, a Gordon—Covenant or no Covenant—is no tale-piet, as my lady might well have known.
"Wat Gordon," said I, "is the gayest and brightest young spark in town, like a Damascus blade for mettle, and there are none that love not his coming, and grieve not at his going."
"Ay—ladies, that I ken," said my aunt. "What of my Lady Wellwood?"
Now I had a very clear opinion of my Lady Wellwood, though I knew her not; for indeed she would not have waved the back of her lily hand to me in the street. But she was a handsome woman, and I admired her greatly for the fairness of her countenance as she went by. Besides, the business of Wat and my Lady Wellwood was none of mine.
"My lady is in truth a fine woman," I said calmly, looking up as if I were saying what must please my visitor.