every gesture was ease, grace and freedom.

What with their own radiance, and the snowy cleanliness and brightness of
their costume, they came like meteors into the apartment.

Lord Ipsden, rising gently from his seat, with the same quiet politeness
with which he would have received two princes of the blood, said, "How do
you do?" and smiled a welcome.

"Fine! hoow's yoursel?" answered the dark lass, whose name was Jean
Carnie, and whose voice was not so sweet as her face.

"What'n lord are ye?" continued she; "are you a juke? I wad like fine to
hae a crack wi' a juke."

Saunders, who knew himself the cause of this question, replied, _sotto
voce,_ "His lordship is a viscount."

"I didna ken't," was Jean's remark. "But it has a bonny soond."

"What mair would ye hae?" said the fair beauty, whose name was Christie
Johnstone. Then, appealing to his lordship as the likeliest to know, she
added, "Nobeelity is jist a soond itsel, I'm tauld."

The viscount, finding himself expected to say something on a topic he had
not attended much to, answered dryly: "We must ask the republicans, they
are the people that give their minds to such subjects."

"And yon man," asked Jean Carnie, "is he a lord, too?"