But the news was so interesting, he felt Alexander Armstrong really ought to share the thrill.
"Mrs.Hatfield's husband is dying," he announced, as Armstrong, very diffidently, peeped through the window from the balcony, and then, seeing no one but his friend the valet, entered the room.
Alexander Armstrong spoke in broad Scotch, but I shall not attempt to transcribe this barbaric language; sufficient to tell you that he made the excuse for his intrusion by saying that he had wanted to get some order from the master about the tourists.
"We shan't have any tourists when she's installed here as mistress!" Mr.
Johnson remarked sepulchrally.
Armstrong was heard to murmur that he did not know what Mr.Johnson meant! This was too stupid! "Why, I told you straight off Mrs.Hatfield's husband is dying," Johnson exclaimed, contemptuously.

"She wrote one of her mauve billy doos this morning, telling the master so, and suggesting they'd soon be able to be married and happy--pretty cold-blooded, I call it, considering the poor man is not yet in his grave!" Armstrong was almost knocked over by this statement; then he laughed--and what he said meant in plain English that Mr.Johnson need not worry himself, for no Arranstoun had ever been known to be coerced into any course of conduct which he did not desire himself--not being hampered by consideration for women, or by any consideration but his own will.

For the matter of that, a headstrong, ruthless race all of them and, as Mr.Johnson must be very well aware, their own particular master was a true chip of the old block.
"See his bonny blue eye--" (I think he pronounced it "ee"), "see his mouth shut like a game spring.

See his strong arms and his height! See him smash the boughs off trees when they get in his way! and then tell me a woman's going to get dominion over him.

Go along, Mr.Johnson!" But Johnson remained unconvinced and troubled; he had had several unpleasant proofs of woman's infernal cunning in his own sphere of life, and Mrs.Hatfield, he knew, was as well endowed with Eve's wit as any French maid.
"We'll ha' a bet about it if you like," Armstrong remarked, as he got up to go, the clock striking three.