She would seek out the cook, who was always her _sister in the Lord_.

"O, my dear, this is the most dreidful thing that my lord can never be contented in his own house!" she would begin; and weep and pray with the cook; and then the cook would pray with Mrs.Weir; and the next day's meal would never be a penny the better--and the next cook (when she came) would be worse, if anything, but just as pious.

It was often wondered that Lord Hermiston bore it as he did; indeed, he was a stoical old voluptuary, contented with sound wine and plenty of it.

But there were moments when he overflowed.

Perhaps half a dozen times in the history of his married life--"Here! tak' it awa', and bring me a piece bread and kebbuck!" he had exclaimed, with an appalling explosion of his voice and rare gestures.