Salmon, which, built in 1681 by a certain Andrew Felton, had descended
as an inheritance to his only daughter, Catherine.

This young lady, known throughout the neighborhood under the name of
pretty Kitty, had contributed not a little, by her personal charms,
to the success and popularity of the inn. In her early youth, she had
been a lively and piquant brunette, with black, glossy hair, combed
over a smooth and prominent forehead, and dark, brilliant eyes, a
style of beauty much in vogue at that period. Though tall and slender
in stature, she was, as our ancestors would have said, sufficiently
_en bon point_. In fine, Kitty merited her surname, and more than one
laird in the neighborhood, more than one great nobleman even,--thanks
to the familiarity which reigned among the different classes in
Scotland,--had figured occasionally among her customers, caring as
little what people might say as did the brave Duke of Argyle, whom
Walter Scott has shown as conversing familiarly with his snuff
merchant.

At present Catherine Felton is in her second youth. By a process
common enough, but which at first appears contradictory, her
attractions have diminished as they developed; her waist has grown
thicker, the roses on her cheek assumed a deeper vermilion, her voice
has acquired the rough and hoarse tone of her most faithful customers;
the slender young girl is transformed into a virago. Fortunately for
her, at the commencement of the eighteenth century, and especially
in Scotland, reputations did not vanish as readily as in our days.
Notwithstanding her increasing size and coarser voice, Catherine still
remained pretty Kitty, especially in the eyes of those to whom she
gave the largest credit.