"I
don't know whether she sees or only thinks she sees. Some do the tane
and some do the tither. Here's the laird."
Two men entered together--a large man and a small man. The first,
great of height and girth, was plainly dressed; the last, seeming
slighter by contrast than he actually was, wore fine cloth, silken
hose, gold buckles to his shoes, and a full wig. The first had a
massive, somewhat saturnine countenance, the last a shrewd, narrow
one. The first had a long stride and a wide reach from thumb to little
finger, the last a short step and a cupped hand. William Jardine,
laird of Glenfernie, led the way to the fire.
"The ford was swollen. Mr. Touris got a little wet and chilled."
"Ah, the fire is good!" said Mr. Touris. "They do not burn wood like
this in London!"
"You will burn it at Black Hill. I hope that you like it better and
better?"
"It has possibilities, ma'am. Undoubtedly," said Mr. Touris, the Scots
adventurer for fortune, set up as merchant-trader in London, making
his fortune by "interloping" voyages to India, but now shareholder and
part and lot of the East India Company--"undoubtedly the place has
possibilities." He warmed his hands. "Well, it would taste good to
come back to Scotland--!" His words might have been finished out, "and
laird it, rich and influential, where once I went forth, cadet of a
good family, but poorer than a church mouse!"
Mrs.
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