"Oh, 'twas all for my rightful king,
That I gaed o'er the border;
Twas all for--

"You didn't tell me her name, now, Jack."

"Where's my mask?" Ryder was muttering. "I say, aren't there any
pockets in these confounded petticoats?"

"In the sporran, man.... There!" McLean at last withheld his hand
from its handiwork. "Jock, you're a grand sight," he pronounced with
a special Scottish burr. "If ye dinna win her now--'Bonny Charley's
now awa,'" he sung as Ryder, with a last darkling look at his vivid
image, strode towards the door.

"He's awa' all right--and he'll be back again as soon as he can make
it."

With this cheerless anticipation of the evening's promise, the
departing one stalked, like an exiled Stuart, to his waiting
carriage.

For a moment more McLean kept the ironic smile alive upon his lips,
as he listened to the rattle of the wheels and the harsh gutturals
of the driver, then the smile died as he turned back into the room.

"Eh, but wouldn't you like it, though, Andy," he said to himself,
"if some girl now liked you enough to get you to go to one of those
damned things.... The lucky dog!"