"I have none but weeman-servants indoors at Denny-mains," he continued, "but when Howard comes, I would prefer him to keep the house like other people, and I will not stint him as to means. Have I told ye what Welliam Dunbaur says— _Be merry, man, and tak not sair in mind—_" "Oh, yes, I remember." "There’s fine common sense in that. And do not you believe the people who tell ye that the Scotch are a dour people, steeped in Calvinism, and niggardly and grasping at the last farthing——" "I have found them exceedingly kind to me, and warm-hearted and generous—" says she; but he interrupted her suddenly. "I’ll tell ye what I’ll do," said he, with decision. "When I buy that yacht, I’ll get Tom Galbraith to paint every panel in the saloon—no matter what it costs!" "Your nephew will be very proud of it," she said. "And I would expect to take a trip in her myself, occasionally," he added, in a facetious manner. "I would expect to be invited——" "Surely, sir, you cannot expect your nephew to be so ungrateful——" "Oh," he said, "I only expect reasonable things. Young people are young people; they cannot like to be always hampered by grumbling old fogeys. No, no; if I present any one wi’ a yacht, I do not look on myself as a piece of its furniture." The Laird seemed greatly delighted. His step on the deck was firmer. In the pauses of the conversation she heard something about— _tántará! Sing tántará!_ "Will ye take your maid with ye?" he asked of her, abruptly. The girl looked up with a bewildered air—perhaps with a trifle of alarm in her eyes. "I, sir?" "Ha, ha!" said he, laughing, "I forgot. Ye have not been invited yet. No more have I. But—if the yacht were ready—and—and if ye were going—ye would take your maid, no doubt, for comfort’s sake?" The girl looked reassured. She said, cheerfully: "Well, sir, I don’t suppose I shall ever go yachting again, after I leave the _White Dove_. And if I were, I don’t suppose I should be able to afford to have a maid with me, unless the dealers in London should suddenly begin to pay me a good deal more than they have done hitherto." At this point she was summoned below by her hostess calling. The Laird was left alone on deck. He continued to pace up and down, muttering to himself, with a proud look on his face. "A landscape in every panel, as I’m a living man! ... Tom ’ll do it well, when I tell him who it’s for.... The leddies’ cabin blue and silver—cool in the summer—the skylight pented—she’ll no be saying that the Scotch are wanting in taste when she sees that cabin! Sing tántará! Sing tántará! * * * The Highland army rues That ere they came to Cromdale! And her maid—if she will not be able to afford a maid, who will?—French, if she likes! Blue and silver—blue and silver—that’s it!" And then the Laird, still humming his lugubrious battle-song, comes down into the saloon.