"I'm no splitter of hairs."
"My lord, it's nane but the corrup'ible wad seek to corrup'."
The marquis gnawed a nail or two in silence. Miss Horn dragged an easy-chair within a couple of yards of him.
"We'll see wha tires o' this ghem first, my lord," she said as she sank into its hospitable embrace.
The marquis turned to lock the door, but there was no key in it. Neither was there any chair within reach, and he was not fond of standing. Clearly, his enemy had the advantage.
"Hae ye h'ard o' puir Sandy Graham—hoo they're misguidin' him, my lord?" she asked with composure.
The marquis was first astounded, and then tickled by her assurance. "No," he answered.
"They hae turnt him oot o' hoose an' ha'—schuil, at least, an' hame," she rejoined. "I may say they hae turnt him oot o' Scotlan', for what presbytery wad hae him efter he had been fun' guilty o' no thinkin' like ither fowk? Ye maun stan' his guid freen', my lord."
"He shall be Malcolm's tutor," answered the marquis, not to be outdone in coolness, "and go with him to Edinburgh—or Oxford, if he prefers it."
"Never yerl o' Colonsay had a better," said Miss Horn.