"Weel, weel, Mr. Sutherlan'," said Mrs. Glasford, in a final tone,
and trying to smother the anger which she felt she had allowed to
carry her further than was decorous, "we'll say nae mair aboot it at
present; but I maun jist speak to the laird himsel', an' see what he
says till 't."

And, with this threat, she walked out of the room in what she
considered a dignified manner.

Hugh was exceedingly annoyed at this treatment, and thought, at
first, of throwing up his situation at once; but he got calmer by
degrees, and saw that it would be to his own loss, and perhaps to
the injury of his friends at the cottage. So he took his revenge by
recalling the excited face of Mrs. Glasford, whose nose had got as
red with passion as the protuberance of a turkey-cock when gobbling
out its unutterable feelings of disdain. He dwelt upon this
soothing contemplation till a fit of laughter relieved him, and he
was able to go and join his pupils as if nothing had happened.

Meanwhile the lady sent for David, who was at work in the garden,
into no less an audience-chamber than the drawing-room, the revered
abode of all the tutelar deities of the house; chief amongst which
were the portraits of the laird and herself: he, plethoric and
wrapped in voluminous folds of neckerchief--she long-necked, and
lean, and bare-shouldered. The original of the latter work of art
seated herself in the most important chair in the room; and when
David, after carefully wiping the shoes he had already wiped three
times on his way up, entered with a respectful but no wise
obsequious bow, she ordered him, with the air of an empress, to shut
the door. When he had obeyed, she ordered him, in a similar tone,