“It’s in the High Street,” said Lady Anne, with some pride; “not far from the Parliament House, Katie; but it’s not like Kellie, you know; and you that have never been in a town, may think it close, and not like a noble house to be in a street; but the High Street and the Canongate are grand streets; and the house is very fine too—only Betty is alone.”
“Is Lord Colville no at home, Lady Anne?” asked Katie.
“Lord Colville’s at the sea—he’s always at the sea—and it’s dreary for Betty to be left alone; but when she sees us, Katie, she’ll think she’s at Kellie again.”
“And would she be glad to think that, I wonder?” said Katie, half under her breath.
But Lady Anne did not answer, for the good Lady Anne was making no speculations at the moment about happiness in the abstract, and so did not properly apprehend the question of her little friend.
The sound of a loud step hastening up stairs startled them. Onward it came thumping through the gallery, and a breathless voice bore it company, singing after a very strange fashion. Voice and step were both undoubtedly Bauby Rodger’s, and the gallery creaked under the one, and the song came forth in gasps from the other, making itself articulate in a stormy gust as she approached the door.
“Oh handsome Charlie Stuart!
Oh charming Charlie Stuart!
There’s no a lad in a’ the land
That’s half sae sweet as thou art!”