Lady Florimel anticipated pleasure in Malcolm’s probable consent to her father’s plan; but certainly he would not have been greatly uplifted by a knowledge of the sort of pleasure she expected. For some time the girl had been suffering from too much liberty. Perhaps there is no life more filled with a sense of oppression and lack of freedom than that of those under no external control, in whom Duty has not yet gathered sufficient strength to assume the reins of government and subject them to the highest law. Their condition is like that of a creature under an exhausted receiver--oppressed from within outwards for want of the counteracting external weight. It was amusement she hoped for from Malcolm’s becoming in a sense one of the family at the House--to which she believed her knowledge of the extremely bare outlines of his history would largely contribute. He was shown at once into the presence of his lordship, whom he found at breakfast with his daughter. “Well, MacPhail,” said the marquis, “have you made up your mind to be my skipper?” “Wullin’ly, my lord,” answered Malcolm. “Do you know how to manage a sail-boat?” “I wad need, my lord.” “Shall you want any help?” “That depen’s upo’ saiveral things--her ain size, the wull o’ the win’, an’ whether or no yer lordship or my leddy can tak the tiller.” “We can’t settle about that then till she comes. I hear she’ll soon be on her way now.--But I cannot have you dressed like a farmer!” said his lordship, looking sharply at the Sunday clothes which Malcolm had donned for the visit. “What was I to du, my lord?” returned Malcolm apologetically. “The only ither claes I hae, are verra fishy, an’ neither yersel’ nor my leddy cud bide them i’ the room aside ye.” “Certainly not,” responded the marquis, as in a leisurely manner he devoured his omelette: “I was thinking of your future position as skipper of my boat.--What would you say to a kilt now?” “Na, na, my lord,” rejoined Malcolm; “a kilt’s no seafarin’ claes. A kilt wadna du ava’, my lord.” “You cannot surely object to the dress of your own people,” said the marquis. “The kilt ’s weel eneuch upon a hill-side,” said Malcolm, “I dinna doobt; but faith! sea-farin’, my lord, ye wad want the trews as weel.” “Well, go to the best tailor in the town, and order a naval suit --white ducks and a blue jacket--two suits you’ll want.” “We s’ gar ae shuit sair s’ (_satisfy us_) to begin wi’, my lord. I’ll jist gang to Jamie Sangster, wha maks a’ my claes--no ’at their mony!--an’ get _him_ to mizzur me. He’ll mak them weel eneuch for me. You’re aye sure o’ the worth o’ yer siller frae _him_.” “I tell you to go to the best tailor in the town, and order two suits.” “Na, na, my lord; there’s nae need. I canna affoord it forbye. We’re no a’ made o’ siller like yer lordship.” “You booby! do you suppose I would tell you to order clothes I did not mean to pay for?” Lady Florimel found her expectation of amusement not likely to be disappointed.