As Mrs. Butler approached the landing-place, she observed the Captain hand the ladies ashore with marks of great attention, and the parties advanced towards her, the Captain a few steps before the two ladies, of whom the taller and elder leaned on the shoulder of the other, who seemed to be an attendant or servant.
As they met, Duncan, in his best, most important, and deepest tone of Highland civility, “pegged leave to introduce to Mrs. Putler, Lady—eh—eh—I hae forgotten your leddyship’s name!”
“Never mind my name, sir,” said the lady; “I trust Mrs. Butler will be at no loss. The Duke’s letter”—And, as she observed Mrs. Butler look confused, she said again to Duncan somethin sharply, “Did you not send the letter last night, sir?”
“In troth and I didna, and I crave your leddyship’s pardon; but you see, matam, I thought it would do as weel to-tay, pecause Mrs. Putler is never taen out o’sorts—never—and the coach was out fishing—and the gig was gane to Greenock for a cag of prandy—and—Put here’s his Grace’s letter.”
“Give it me, sir,” said the lady, taking it out of his hand; “since you have not found it convenient to do me the favour to send it before me, I will deliver it myself.”
Mrs. Butler looked with great attention, and a certain dubious feeling of deep interest, on the lady, who thus expressed herself with authority over the man of authority, and to whose mandates he seemed to submit, resigning the letter with a “Just as your leddyship is pleased to order it.”
The lady was rather above the middle size, beautifully made, though something embonpoint, with a hand and arm exquisitely formed. Her manner was easy, dignified, and commanding, and seemed to evince high birth and the habits of elevated society. She wore a travelling dress—a grey beaver hat, and a veil of Flanders lace. Two footmen, in rich liveries, who got out of the barge, and lifted out a trunk and portmanteau, appeared to belong to her suite.
“As you did not receive the letter, madam, which should have served for my introduction—for I presume you are Mrs. Butler—I will not present it to you till you are so good as to admit me into your house without it.”
“To pe sure, matam,” said Knockdunder, “ye canna doubt Mrs. Putler will do that.—Mrs. Putler, this is Lady—Lady—these tamned Southern names rin out o’ my head like a stane trowling down hill—put I believe she is a Scottish woman porn—the mair our credit—and I presume her leddyship is of the house of—”
“The Duke of Argyle knows my family very well, sir,” said the lady, in a tone which seemed designed to silence Duncan, or, at any rate, which had that effect completely.