Marjorie Bowen

“ Again in silence Lord Stair looked out across the ballroom; the delicate melody of the pavan came exquisitely through the roses.
Lord Stair's mouth curved into a little smile; he did not fear; he despised his enemies; that they had discovered such a weapon as this against him roused his bitter amusement more than his wrath. He disdained to be moved by insults raked from the very mud of the gutter; he cared nothing for tales started in Jacobite pamphlets. No remorse troubled him with regard to Glencoe ”

“ The music crept to her ears in a slow melody; the gently moving fan kept time with it; with narrowed eyes she turned and looked at herself in the mirror.
It was a tragic face she saw there, a hopeless face. ”

“ Lord Stair dragged the pilfered rose across the table, leaving the gold pollen dust staining the inlaid wood; he still smiled.
"I know of none—my enemies are numerous—but not—my lord, secret."
The violins commenced a gavotte. Lady Stair crossed the floor, Mr. Wharton was her partner; her husband looked at them and reflected that Mr. Wharton was too often in Edinburgh; these three years had not softened his dislike of the good-humored beau.
Breadalbane spoke again.
"Ye are mistaken—the maist deadly of your enemies is the hidden one wha hae trumped up this tale." ”