“Nay, Rose, our wiser course were to sit here and let it find us—or rather, my friend will come a-searching me so soon as supper be ready and ... indeed, yonder he comes, I fear! Yes,” sighed Sir John, as the huge form of Sir Hector loomed nearer, “I grieve to say he is here already!” Perceiving Sir John’s companion, MacLean halted suddenly. “Losh, man Jack!” he exclaimed. “’Tis I, Hector. Have you ordered supper?” “I hae that!” “Then pray mount my horse and lead the way. Rose and I follow.” “Umph-humph!” quoth Sir Hector, and, mounting forthwith, he trotted down the hill, but profound reprobation was in the cock of his weatherbeaten hat and the set of his broad shoulders as he went. CHAPTER III TELLETH OF MRS. ROSE, THE GUILEFUL INNOCENT “Strip, wench, strip!” cried Lady Herminia Barrasdaile, tossing the disguising cloak into a corner of the bedchamber. “Off with your clothes, girl, off with ’em—we’re both of a size, thank heavens—so strip, Betty, strip, as I’m a-doing!” “Yes, my lady,” sighed comely Betty, large and patient and calmly indulgent to the unexpected whims and caprices of her imperious mistress. “But pray, mam, why should us undress afore bedtime?” “That we may dress again, sure, Bet; to-night I am you and you are me ... except that my name is ‘Rose—Rose,’ you’ll remember!” admonished her ladyship, kicking off her fine gown. “Yes, mam,” answered placid Mrs. Betty; “but why for ‘Rose’?” “Because ’twas the first name occurred to me. Come, tie me these strings, wench! Sir John Dering is below, and if he should demand to see me—I mean you——” “Sir John, my lady? Dering? O lud, not—not _the_ Sir John Dering—not _him_, my lady?” “Himself at last, face to face, Bet. Help me into this gown o’ yours.... O gad, what an infinity of buttons! Fasten me in, child! See, you are bigger in the waist than I, Bet ... and devilish tight above here ... I vow I can scarce breathe! Nay, button away, girl, I’ll endure it.... I must breathe prettily, pantingly. My Lady Felicity Flyte hath the trick on’t and ’tis much admired, so I’ll e’en pant and endure! Now, one o’ your mobs, girl, a cap with ribbands to’t ... aye, this shall serve—so! Now, how am I?” “Ravishing, my lady! O mam!” “Why, your things become me, I think.” “Vastly, mem! O my lady!” “Now,’tis thy turn, Bet. Shalt wear my yellow lute-string wi’ the panniers.” “O my lady, but you ha’ wore it but once!” “No matter,’tis thine, Betty. Come, out with it and on with it. Nay, first your hair must be powdered and pomatumed, your cheeks smeared wi’ rouge—yourself sufficiently pulvilled——” “But, O mam, why must I——” “In case Sir John desires speech with you—that is to say, with me. He may not and yet again he may, and you must be prepared.” “O mem,” quavered Betty. “O my lady—suppose he stare at me?” “Stare back at him, for sure—like any other lady o’ fashion!” “But what must I say?”