A strange new yearning pity rose in his heart as he thought about his sister and the sad facts of her lonely condition. He feared much that her stately composure was built mainly on her imagined position in society, and was not the outcome of her character. Would it be cruelty to destroy that false foundation, hardly the more false as a foundation for composure that beneath it lay a mistake? --or was it not rather a justice which her deeper and truer self had a right to demand of him? At present, however, he need not attempt to answer the question. Communication even such as a trusted groom might have with her, and familiarity with her surroundings, would probably reveal much. Meantime it was enough that he would now be so near her that no important change of which others might be aware, could well approach her without his knowledge, or anything take place without his being able to interfere if necessary. CHAPTER XIII. TWO CONVERSATIONS. The next day Wallis came to see Malcolm and take him to the tailor’s. They talked about the guests of the previous evening. “There’s a great change on Lord Meikleham,” said Malcolm. “There is that,” said Wallis. “I consider him much improved. But you see he’s succeeded; he’s the earl now, and Lord Liftore--and a menseful, broad-shouldered man to the boot of the bargain. He used to be such a windle-straw!” In order to speak good English, Wallis now and then, like some Scotch people of better education, anglicized a word ludicrously. “Is there no news of his marriage?” asked Malcolm, adding, “they say he has great property.” “My love she’s but a lassie yet,” said Wallis, “--though she too has changed quite as much as my lord.” “Who are you speaking of?” asked Malcolm, anxious to hear the talk of the household on the matter. “Why, Lady Lossie, of course. Anybody with half an eye can see as much as that.” “Is it settled then?” “That would be hard to say. Her ladyship is too like her father: no one can tell what may be her mind the next minute. But, as I say, she’s young, and ought to have her fling first--so far, that is, as we can permit it to a woman of her rank. Still, as I say, anybody with half an eye can see the end of it all: he’s for ever hovering about her. My lady, too, has set her mind on it, and for my part I can’t see what better she can do. I must say I approve of the match. I can see no possible objection to it.” “We used to think he drank too much,” suggested Malcolm. “Claret,” said Wallis, in a tone that seemed to imply no one could drink too much of that. “No, not claret only. I’ve seen the whisky follow the claret.” “Well, he don’t now--not whisky at least. He don’t drink too much--not much too much--not more than a gentleman should. He don’t look like it--does he now? A good wife, such as my Lady Lossie will make him, will soon set him all right. I think of taking a similar protection myself, one of these days.” “He is not worthy of her,” said Malcolm.