At sight of it, Mistress Croale's eyes shot flame.

Jean poured out a glassful, took a sip, and offered it to Janet.

Janet declining it, Jean, invaded possibly by some pity of her miserable aspect, offered it to Mistress Croale.
She took it with affected coolness, tossed it off at a gulp, and presented the glass--not to the hand from which she had taken it, but to Jean's other hand, in which was the bottle.

Jean cast a piercing look into her greedy eyes, and taking the glass from her, filled it, and presented it to the woman who had built and navigated the brander.

Mistress Croale muttered something that sounded like a curse upon scrimp measure, and drew herself farther back into the corner, where she had seated herself on Fergus's portmanteau.
"I doobt we hae an Ahchan i' the camp--a Jonah intil the ship!" said Jean to Janet, as she turned, bottle and glass in her hands, to carry them from the room.
"Na, na; naither sae guid nor sae ill," replied Janet.