“What do you mean by the term, as you call it?” said Matilda, beginning to quake. “It’s an awful pity when leddies do not understand the language o’ the country they’re living in,” said Fleming, drily. “The term is Whitsunday, Mistress Chairles, if you ken that. If no, I’ll bring ye the date when I’ve lookit it up in the Almanack.” “Leave the room, Sir, and go as soon as possible,” cried Matilda, in wrath. It cannot be denied that the old butler of Pitcomlie was trying as a servant to unaccustomed nerves and tempers. He drew the table she had indicated, which was a heavy one, inlaid with marble, one of Mr. Charles’s curiosities, with much trouble to the side of the sofa, and arranged the tray very deliberately upon it. Then he walked slowly to the fire and made it up, and for five minutes kept pottering about the room, putting invisible trifles in order, and wearing Matilda’s temper to a fierce and fine edge. “Oh, for heaven’s sake, go away!” she cried, “and leave the house, you horrid impertinent---- Miss Marjory might put up with you, but I shan’t. Send Mr. Charles Heriot to me directly. Go and call him directly, do you hear, Sir? Will you go, or must I go myself?” cried the impatient young woman, jumping up from her sofa. “Ring the bell, Verna, ring the bell instantly! send for the old gentleman. I suppose there are other servants in the house?” “Oh, ay, Mrs. Chairles, plenty of servants,” said Fleming, making his exit in a leisurely way, while the bell pealed through the house, rousing all the maids. “She’s fainted or something,” cried Mrs. Simpson. “She’s just the kind o’ person to faint. Run you, Jenny, and get the English maid; and some of ye flee with cauld water--and I’ll burn some feathers and come after ye myself.” “What’s the matter--what’s the matter?” said Mr. Charles, stumbling through the women, who had crowded towards the drawing-room door, in the pleasureable excitement of such an occurrence. “It’s Mrs. Chairles that’s fainted. It’s the young leddy,” they all murmured in tones of interest. Matilda, however, herself met him, furious, on the threshold. “Am I to have nothing but impudence?” she cried, “and people laughing at me, and--and paying no attention to whatever I say? Is this my house or is it not? I will not put up with it. I will pack them all out of the house one after another. I will give them no characters; I will---- Oh, you are all a set of barbarians!” cried Matilda, bursting into tears. “Oh, if poor dear Charlie had been here, he would never, never have allowed me to be used like this. And you--do you call yourself a gentleman, and let them all insult me? Or perhaps you told them to do it, because it is me, and not your niece that you are so fond of. Oh, Verna, come and help me! Oh, isn’t there anybody? No man that is a gentleman would stand and gape, and see me treated so!”