office at Glasgow, by the
intervention of a parishioner who had business at that city.
    The next week brought the Duke to Roseneath, and shortly afterwards he
intimated his intention of sporting in their neighbourhood, and taking his bed
at the Manse; an honour which he had once or twice done to its inmates on former
occasions.
    Effie proved to be perfectly right in her anticipations. The Duke had hardly
set himself down at Mrs. Butler's right hand, and taken upon himself the task of
carving the excellent »barndoor chucky,« which had been selected as the high
dish upon this honourable occasion, before he began to speak of Lady Staunton of
Willingham, in Lincolnshire, and the great noise which her wit and beauty made
in London. For much of this Jeanie was, in some measure, prepared - but Effie's
wit! that would never have entered into her imagination, being ignorant how
exactly raillery in the higher rank resembles flippancy among their inferiors.
    »She has been the ruling belle - the blazing star - the universal toast of
the winter,« said the Duke; »and is really the most beautiful creature that was
seen at court upon the birthday.«
    The birthday! and at court! - Jeanie was annihilated, remembering well her
own presentation, all its extraordinary circumstances, and particularly the
cause of it.
    »I mention this lady particularly to you, Mrs. Butler,« said the Duke,
»because she has something in the sound of her voice, and cast of her
countenance, that reminded me of you - not when you look so pale though - you
have over-fatigued yourself - you must pledge me in a glass of wine.«
    She did so, and Butler observed, »It was dangerous flattery in his Grace to
tell a poor minister's wife that she was like a court-beauty.«
    »Oho, Mr. Butler,« said the Duke, »I find you are growing jealous; but it's
rather too late in the day, for you know how long I have admired your wife. But
seriously, there is betwixt them one of those inexplicable likenesses which we
see in countenances, that do not otherwise resemble each other.«
    »The perilous part of the compliment has flown off,« thought Mr. Butler.
    His wife, feeling the awkwardness of silence, forced herself to say, »That,
perhaps, the lady might be her countrywoman, and the language might have made
some resemblance.«
    »You are quite right,« replied the Duke. »She is a Scotch-