After that they rose and went out into the streets again, where the short, gloomy winter afternoon was already darkening into evening. Herries naturally escorted his charge up the town towards the Potterrow. They mounted the worn flights of steps, the steep closes and murky wynds, with the brisk step of youth refreshed—Alison the first and least fatigued. Herries felt himself admiring her for the first time.
'Now, that's a handsome jacket,' said the innocent man to himself, eyeing the red pelisse, 'and I protest, it sets a handsome figure! A fine free step the girl has, too—country-bred.' Altogether, he was very well pleased with his companion that night.
When they reached the Potterrow it was nearly dark, and the ill-trimmed flaring lantern that hung in the General's Entry was already lit.
'Will you not come up to your cousin's tea-table, sir?' asked Alison, shyly.
'I thank you, no,' Herries answered. 'Make my excuses to Nancy. I have business this evening.'
'I—I should thank you for a very pleasant day, sir,' said Alison, timidly. 'I have greatly enjoyed myself.'
'Nay,' said Herries, with a little flourish, 'the pleasure was mine! I trust we have other enjoyable days, in company, to come.' And with that they parted, and Herries walked down the town alone.
'If all pleasures were as innocent and as cheap, mistress,' he said to himself, thinking of Alison's little speech, 'men would be better and richer than they are!' And he laughed when he thought of the modest total of Lucky's bill. On his doorstep he found Creighton's terrier, Dick, shivering in the cold. 'Come in, beastie!' he said, 'and lie by the fire till your master goes.'
He was in a singularly softened mood, and in high good humour with all the world.
CHAPTER XX.