“Off to the wars again, or are you still at your old profession of lifting, my Highland cateran?”
Donald shrugged. “I am a man of many trades. In my day I have been soldier, sailor, reiver, hunter and hunted, doctor and patient, forby a wheen mair. What the gods provide I take.”
“Hm! So I see. Prithee, make yourself at home,” was Volney’s ironical advice.
Macdonald fell into an attitude before the glass and admired himself vastly.
“Fegs, I will that. The small-clothes now— Are they not an admirable fit whatever? And the coat— ’Tis my measure to a nicety. Let me congratulate you on your tailor. Need I say that the periwig is a triumph of the friseur’s art?”
“Your approval flatters me immensely,” murmured Volney, smiling whimsically. “Faith, I never liked my clothes so well as now. You make an admirable setting for them, Captain, but the ruffles are somewhat in disarray. If you will permit me to ring for my valet Watkins he will be at your service. Devil take him, he should have been here an hour ago.”
“He sends by me a thousand excuses for his absence. The fact is that he is unavoidably detained.”
“Pardon me. I begin to understand. You doubtless found it necessary to put a quietus on him. May one be permitted to hope that you didn’t have to pistol him? I should miss him vastly. He is the best valet in London.”
“Your unselfish attachment to him does you infinite credit, Sir Robert. It fair brings the water to my een. But it joys me to reassure you at all events. He is in your bedroom tied hand and foot, biting on a knotted kerchief. I persuaded him to take a rest.”
Volney laughed.