"I thought most people had ceased to consider that a grievance," said his son, laughing again; "but I think that if Edinburgh has been dull since 1707, it must have been truly diabolical before it." "Cosmo," said his mother, reproachfully, "I know not what some of your ancestors who fought at Flodden and Pinkey would have thought of you." "The more fools they to fight at such places." "Not so," said the old lord rising, with some asperity in his tone; "God rest all who ever fought or died for Scotland and her kings; and I must tell you, Cosmo, that you will never be the better or the truer Briton for being a bad or false Scotsman!" The Master gave another of his sinister laughs; and, finding that the conversation had suddenly taken an uncomfortable turn, his father said with a smile-- "I was about to express a hope, Cosmo, that with the rank of lieutenant-colonel, you mean to settle at last, and become quiet." "What, my lord--have I been drawing too heavily upon you and old John Girvan of late?" "I mean, that pranks which passed well enough in a subaltern, won't do in one who looks to the command of a regiment." "Pelting the rabble with rotten eggs at Epsom, and so forth, you mean? No; in my days a sub, after pulling off half the knockers in Piccadilly, breaking all the oil lamps in Pall Mall, getting up a cry of fire in the Hay market, and bringing out the engines to pump on the rascally mob; having, at least, one set-to with the rough and muscular democrats of the watch, would finish off by a champagne supper somewhere, and thus bring to a close a reputable London day, which, in our corps, usually begins after evening parade. Ah, my lord, you slow fellows of the King's Own Borderers knew nothing of such pranks, with your long pigtails, your funny regimentals, and Kevenhüller hats." "The reason, perhaps, we cocked those same hats so bravely on many a field," retorted his father. "In my days the army was the school of good-breeding, sir--but here's Jack Andrews announcing tea and devilled grouse in the inner drawing-room." "Cosmo, give your arm to Flora, if Quentin can spare her," said Lady Rohallion, smiling. "They are great friends and companions." "Oh--ah--indeed," said the Master, sarcastically, as he gave Flora Warrender his arm. "I think I saw them exchanging strong marks of their mutual goodwill as I rode up the avenue." Quentin grew scarlet, and Flora painfully pale at this remark, which stung her deeply, and roused her indignation. CHAPTER XIV. AN ABRUPT PROPOSAL. "Wherefore dwell so sad and lonely, By the desolate sea-shore; With the melancholy surges Beating at your cottage door? You shall dwell beside the castle, Shadowed by our ancient trees! And your life shall pass on gently, Cared for and in rest and ease."