"Why did he not inscribe some words to me?"

"He speaks of an epistle of welcome--and farewell to be given thee
by Lord Cedric upon thy arrival in England. 'Twill give thee greater
pleasure then."

"But Janet; a Scot! A blustering, red-faced Scot with petticoats! Hast
ever seen one outside of pictures?"

"Aye, Lambkin, and 'twas the unseemly kilt that was the better part;
for I have met a blustering red-faced Scot as thou sayest; and he
was boisterous and surly, giving vent to a choleric temper by coarse
oaths; and 'twas his plaid denoted a gentleman of high rank withal.
The long hair that swept his shoulders was as florid as his face, as
was also his flowing whiskers and mustachio, the latter being bitten
short and forming a bristling fringe over a slavering mouth,--what is
it, Mistress, thou art pale, has pain taken thee?"

"Nay, 'tis nausea, an awful loathing; I wish to remain here. Send at
once my desires to my father. I will not go to England, Janet!"

"'Tis better thou shouldst think of something else beside my Lord
Cedric, for instance, his great demesne, Crandlemar Castle, the most
beautiful of his several seats; the splendid horses and equipages;
and, thyself, Lambkin, think of thyself bedecked in gorgeous hued
brocades; be-furbelowed in rare lace and costly furs. And thou wilt
have a maid to build thy hair, tie shoulder knots and make smart
ribbons and frills, and furbish bijoux and gems. And thou wilt wear
perfume, and carry a nosegay and fan. And thou wilt sweep the most
graceful courtesy and queen it everywhere with thy sweet graciousness.