Every appointment of room and table was essentially English, and
Mistress Katherine cast her eye about wondering if 'twas so, or, were
they Scotch? She inclined to the former, and a sigh of relief and
happiness escaped her.
Suddenly there was a sound of hurrying footsteps with an accompanying
one of broad Scotch oaths in no low key. A lackey carrying a bag-pipe
rushed into the room and out again without noticing its occupant.
At his very heels was a big Scotchman of large and ridiculous
proportions; red hair, red face, red whiskers, red mustachios, and
bandy-legs, petticoats and all; and a tongue ripping out hot oaths.
In a moment Katherine was upon her feet, her eyes flashed forth
indignation. The keen eyes of the Scot saw her at a glance. He looked,
stared, then bent almost to the floor before her and waited thus for
her to speak. She, not accustomed to the masculine courtesies of
polite breeding, thought his attitude was too prolonged for either a
bow of homage or humiliation; and she straightway in a voice that was
tremulous with emotion, said:
"Has the bitterness of thy tongue taken root in thy stomach?" Quickly
he raised himself at her first word and gazed with enamoured looks at
the amber folds of hair, her glowing face; and with panting breath his
eyes rested upon the round fulness of her form as it palpitated with
rightful perturbance.
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