“Eh, my bonny Miss!” whispered a persuasive voice at her ear, “ye’re joost stairving in a land o’ plenty.  Tak’ my advice, and ye’ll tak’ the best thing at tebble—­groose-poy, and trufflers.”

Blanche looked up.

There he was—­the man of the canny eye, the fatherly manner, and the mighty nose—­Bishopriggs—­preserved in spirits and ministering at the festival at Swanhaven Lodge!

Blanche had only seen him for a moment on the memorable night of the storm, when she had surprised Anne at the inn.  But instants passed in the society of Bishopriggs were as good as hours spent in the company of inferior men.  Blanche instantly recognized him; instantly called to mind Sir Patrick’s conviction that he was in possession of Anne’s lost letter; instantly rushed to the conclusion that, in discovering Bishopriggs, she had discovered a chance of tracing Anne.  Her first impulse was to claim acquaintance with him on the spot.  But the eyes of her neighbors were on her, warning her to wait.  She took a little of the pie, and looked hard at Bishopriggs.  That discreet man, showing no sign of recognition on his side, bowed respectfully, and went on round the table.

“I wonder whether he has got the letter about him?” thought Blanche.

He had not only got the letter about him—­but, more than that, he was actually then on the look-out for the means of turning the letter to profitable pecuniary account.

The domestic establishment of Swanhaven Lodge included no formidable array of servants.  When Mrs. Delamayn gave a large party, she depended for such additional assistance as was needed partly on the contributions of her friends, partly on the resources of the principal inn at Kirkandrew.  Mr. Bishopriggs, serving at the time (in the absence of any better employment) as a supernumerary at the inn, made one among the waiters who could be spared to assist at the garden-party.  The name of the gentleman by whom he was to be employed for the day had struck him, when he first heard it, as having a familiar sound.  He had made his inquiries; and had then betaken himself for additional information, to the letter which he had picked up from the parlor floor at Craig Fernie.

The sheet of note-paper, lost by Anne, contained, it may be remembered, two letters—­one signed by herself; the other signed by Geoffrey—­and both suggestive, to a stranger’s eye, of relations between the writers which they were interested in concealing from the public view.

Thinking it just possible—­if he kept his eyes and ears well open at Swanhaven—­that he might improve his prospect of making a marketable commodity of the stolen correspondence, Mr. Bishopriggs had put the letter in his pocket when he left Kirkandrew.  He had recognized Blanche, as a friend of the lady at the inn—­and as a person who might perhaps be turned to account, in that capacity.  And he had, moreover, heard every word of the conversation between Lady Lundie and Mrs. Delamayn on the subject of Geoffrey and Mrs. Glenarm.  There were hours to be passed before the guests would retire, and before the waiters would be dismissed.  The conviction was strong in the mind of Mr. Bishopriggs that he might find good reason yet for congratulating himself on the chance which had associated him with the festivities at Swanhaven Lodge.