Therefore he returned to the "Marsh Inn" the next day, and was sourly welcomed by the landlady. Indeed, she still showed a disposition to keep him out of doors, but Gowrie having five pounds in his purse,--he had procured the same from Browne for business purposes,--flashed his gold in her eyes, and spoke largely. "Ye can gie me the best bedroom an' the parlour," said he, with the air of a millionaire. "And see that the cooking be gude, and the drink plentiful. The lean days are gane, and noo come in the fat years o' merry-making. An aboot time, I'm theenking." Mrs. Narby was still sore that Elspeth should have defied her, and departed. Also she was not pleased that her former drudge should have married a man worth fifty thousand a year. Ritson, while informing the Press that Herries had got the money, had, for obvious reasons suppressed the fact that he had a duty to perform before getting the cash. Therefore Mrs. Narby was extremely jealous of Elspeth, and nothing would have given her greater pleasure than to have scratched her face, and pulled her hair. But Mrs. Herries was beyond the reach of her malice, and the father of Mrs. Herries had money galore. It was worth while to transfer that money from his pocket into hers. She therefore smoothed her sour face, and softened her raucous voice, which was as hoarse as the note of a starling. In her desire to propitiate Gowrie she even curtseyed. "I am very glad t' see you, sir," croaked Mrs. Narby, with a greedy eye on the gold which Gowrie held in his hand, "jes like ole times, ain't it, you an' me? An' ow's yer daughter, me dear friend?" "Revellin' in silks an' satins an jewels of price," replied Gowrie carelessly, "there's naethin' ower gude for the lassie." "Ho!" yelped Mrs. Narby almost suffocated with rage, "it is a chainge, Mr. Gowrie, ain't it? I thought she'd be a gallows widder!" "Ye're nae paid tae theenk," retorted Gowrie with his grand air, "gae spin, ye jade, and bring me th' flowin' bowl,--th' which Tommy Moore sang aboot." "Y' must pay me a'ead." "An' hoo muckle for the bedroom an' the' parlour?" "There ain't no parlour. Capting Kyles 'as thet, and th' bedroom es the old gent wos a-murdered in. But y' kin 'ave the room es yer son-in-law slep' in. Boar' an' lodgin'," added Mrs. Narby glibly, "two quid a week, in advance." "Hoots! Ye're demented, woman. Twa pun', says she, the deil tak her for a greedy glede. Nae, nae, ye'll nae pairt a Scotchmon frae his siller sae easily. I'll gie ye haulf-a-croon a nicht for ma room and pay ma victuals as I gang." "Capting Kyles guy me three quid," said Mrs. Narby sullenly. "The mair fule he. Weel, tak it or e'en leave it. I'm nae verra carein' tae stap in a butt an' a ben o' this sort. I joost cam' here tae show ye I wisnae prood or puffed up by mae prosperity, for th' sake o' auld lang syne, as ye micht pit it, and nae lee."