rs. Inchbare. (I don't think it beneath me to sell the game
killed on my estate to the poulterer.) What was it she wanted to buy?
Some of my black Spanish fowls?"

"Yes, my lady. Your ladyship's black Spaniards are famous all round the
neighborhood. Nobody has got the breed. And Mrs. Inchbare--"

"Wants to share the distinction of having the breed with me," said Lady
Lundie. "I won't appear ungracious. I will see her myself, as soon as I
am a little better, and tell her that I have changed my mind. Send
one of the men to Craig Fernie with a message. I can't keep a trifling
matter of this sort in my memory--send him at once, or I may forget it.
He is to say I am willing to see Mrs. Inchbare, about the fowls, the
first time she finds it convenient to come this way."

"I am afraid, my lady--Mrs. Inchbare's heart is so set on the black
Spaniards--she will find it convenient to come this way at once as fast
as her feet can carry her."

"In that case, you must take her to the gardener's wife. Say she is to
have some eggs--on condition, of course, of paying the price for them.
If she does come, mind I hear of it."

Hopkins withdrew. Hopkins's mistress reclined on her comfortable pillows
and fanned herself gently. The vindictive smile reappeared on her face.
"I fancy I shall be well enough to see Mrs. Inchbare," she thought to
herself. "And it is just possible that the conversation may get beyond
the relative merits of her poultry-yard and mine."

A lapse of little more than two hours proved Hopkins's estimate of the
latent enthusiasm in Mrs. Inchbare's character to have been correctly
formed. The eager landlady appeared at Windygates on the heels of the
returning servant. Among the long list of human weaknesses, a passion
for poultry seems to have its practical advantages (in the shape
of eggs) as compared with the more occult frenzies for collecting
snuff-boxes and fiddles, and amassing autographs and old postage-stamps.
When the mistress of Craig Fernie was duly announced to the mistress of
Windygates, Lady Lundie developed a sense of humor for the first time
in her life. Her ladyship was feebly merry (the result, no doubt, of the
exhilarating properties of the red lavender draught) on the subject of
Mrs. Inchbare and the Spanish fowls.

"Most ridiculous, Hopkins! This poor woman must be suffering from
a determination of poultry to the brain. Ill as I am, I should have
thought that nothing could amuse me. But, rea