"
"All business must be minded, dame," said the goldsmith. "Make my
remembrances--George Heriot, of Lombard Street's remembrances--to your
goodman. I have dealt with him--he is just and punctual--true to time
and engagements;--be kind to your noble guest, and see he wants
nothing. Though it be his pleasure at present to lie private and
retired, there be those that care for him, and I have a charge to see
him supplied; so that you may let me know by your husband, my good
dame, how my lord is, and whether he wants aught."
"And so he _is_ a real lord after all?" said the good dame. "I am sure
I always thought he looked like one. But why does he not go to
Parliament, then?"
"He will, dame," answered Heriot, "to the Parliament of Scotland,
which is his own country."
"Oh! he is but a Scots lord, then," said the good dame; "and that's
the thing makes him ashamed to take the title, as they say."
"Let him not hear _you_ say so, dame," replied the citizen.
"Who, I, sir?" answered she; "no such matter in my thought, sir. Scot
or English, he is at any rate a likely man, and a civil man; and
rather than he should want any thing, I would wait upon him myself,
and come as far as Lombard Street to wait upon your worship too."
"Let your husband come to me, good dame," said the goldsmith, who,
with all his experience and worth, was somewhat of a formalist and
disciplinarian.
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