Fortune favoured him, for Fantine Le Grand being in an evil, reckless temper had just sent to say she had a headache and could not come to amuse his lordship, who, up and dressed to receive her as usual, was cursing and swearing at womankind in the abstract, and therefore, not unwilling to have a concrete specimen on which to vent his ill-humour. Marrion Paul, consequently, found herself without delay facing the heavy figure in the big padded chair. One foot swathed in flannels lay on a leg-rest, and the large hand that clasped the lion-head knobs of the armchair showed swollen and disfigured by gout; still there was something dignified, almost regal, in the pose of the man; while his face--Marrion, despite her thumping heart, as she looked above the treble chin to the open forehead, felt that here, when all was said and done, was kinship with Marmaduke. And she for her part pleased the old man's eye also. She had not dressed herself for the occasion, but stood in her usual striped petticoat and bed-gown with a green tartan shoulder shawl of the Muir tartan and a snood of tartan ribbon to match in the red bronze coils of hair. "So you're Marrion Paul?" he said, his keen clear blue eyes taking in every point of her person. "I haven't seen you to speak to since you were so high. You're a devilish good-looking girl. Come and give me a kiss, my lass." To his surprise, amusement, and approval she stepped forward instantly and obeyed. The touch of her cool lips on his seemed to stagger him. "Don't object to kisses--hey?" he said, as she remained standing close beside him. "Why should I, Drummuir," she replied quietly, "when you've kenned me since I was a baby in arms." He burst into one of his guffaws of rough laughter. "Hey? What? One for the old reprobate! Sit down, my dear, and tell me what you want." "It's about Mr. Marmaduke, sir," she began, her voice shaking a little. "Hey? What? Has that young devil been--no, I beg your pardon, my dear, you're not that sort. Trust a man who's kicked over the traces a bit to know an honest horse when he sees one. You take my word for it; the best judge of a good woman is a bad man. Well, what of Duke?" The mere abbreviation of the name was encouraging. She felt that to attempt a bargain, even to beg for patience, would be a mistake. She simply took her courage in both hands and told him all she knew. He sat, his unwieldy body impassive as some carven image, one strong emotion after another sweeping over the mobile face that held so much laughter in every line that Time had graven on it. Only once or twice he interrupted her when, fearing she was too lengthy, she began to cut out details. Then his quick "Let's have it all; don't you know, you're as good as a play. Beat the immortal wizard all to bits! Don't skip"--brought her back to the accessories of her tale. When she had finished he sat and looked at her for a second.