“My certie!” he said, “it’s weel ye cam’ when ye did. It’s ill getting to this hottle in a storm.”
Anne started and looked round at him. “A storm coming!” she exclaimed.
“Eh! ye’re well hoosed here—ye needn’t mind it. There’s the cloud down the valley,” he added, pointing out of the window, “coming up one way, when the wind’s blawing the other. The storm’s brewing, my leddy, when ye see that!”
There was another knock at the door. As Arnold had predicted, the landlady made her appearance on the scene.
“I ha’ just lookit in, Sir,” said Mrs. Inchbare, addressing herself exclusively to Arnold, “to see ye’ve got what ye want.”
“Oh! you are the landlady? Very nice, ma’am—very nice.”
Mistress Inchbare had her own private motive for entering the room, and came to it without further preface.
“Ye’ll excuse me, Sir,” she proceeded. “I wasna in the way when ye cam’ here, or I suld ha’ made bauld to ask ye the question which I maun e’en ask noo. Am I to understand that ye hire these rooms for yersel’, and this leddy here—yer wife?”
Anne raised her head to speak. Arnold pressed her hand warningly, under the table, and silenced her.
“Certainly,” he said. “I take the rooms for myself, and this lady here—my wife!”