ittle sense in taking the Lord's name in
vain about idle vivers that you fill your kyte wi'."

"I daresay you're perfectly right, ma'am," quoth the imperturbable
Frank. "But as I was saying, this is a pitiable business, this about
poor Archie; and you and I might do worse than put our heads together,
like a couple of sensible people, and bring it to an end. Let me tell
you, ma'am, that Archie is really quite a promising young man, and in my
opinion he would do well at the Bar. As for his father, no one can deny
his ability, and I don't fancy any one would care to deny that he has
the deil's own temper----"

"If you'll excuse me, Mr. Innes, I think the lass is crying on me," said
Kirstie, and flounced from the room.

"The damned, cross-grained, old broom-stick!" ejaculated Innes.

In the meantime, Kirstie had escaped into the kitchen, and before her
vassal gave vent to her feelings.

"Here, ettercap! Ye'll have to wait on yon Innes! I canna hand myself
in. 'Puir Erchie!' I'd 'puir Erchie' him, if I had my way! And Hermiston
with the deil's ain temper! God, let him take Hermiston's scones out of
his mouth first. There's no a hair on ayther o' the Weirs that hasna
mair spunk and dirdum to it than what he has in his hale dwaibly body!
Settin' up his snash to me! Let him gang to the black toon where he's
mebbe wantit--birling on a curricle--wi' pimatum on his heid--making a
mess o' himsel' wi' nesty hizzies--a fair disgrace!" It was impossible
to hear without admiration Kirstie's graduated disgust, as she brought
forth, one after another, these somewhat baseless charges. Then she
remembered her immediate purpose, and turned again on her fascinated
auditor. "Do ye no hear me, tawpie? Do ye no hear what I'm tellin' ye?
Will I have to shoo ye into him? If I come to attend to ye, mistress!"
And the maid fled the kitchen, which had become practically dangerous,
to attend on Innes's wants in the front parlour.

_Tantaene irae_? Has the reader perceived the reason? Since Frank's
coming there were no more hours of gossip over the supper-tray! All his
blandishments were in vain; he had started handicapped on the race for
Mrs. Elliott's favour.

But it was a strange thing how misfortune dogged him in his efforts to
be genial. I must guard the reader against accepting Kirstie's epithets
as evidence; she was more concerned for their vigour than for their
accuracy. Dwaibly, for instance; nothing could be more calumnious.
Frank wa