“You’re no surely meaning that young Glasca’ lawyer that comes here, whiles.”
“You’re no surely meaning to pass an insult on Miss Mary, factor. I’m thinking o’ my Lord Forfar, and nae ither man to match him. He would kiss my lady’s little shoon, and think the honor too much for king or kaiser. And for a’ their plumes, and gold, and scarlet, the rattle o’ their swords, and the jingle o’ their spurs, there wasna an officer at the bridal I’d name in the same breath wi’ Lord Lionel Forfar.”
“But the minister”—
“Houts! What does a bonnie lady, young and rich and beautiful, want wi’ a minister body, unless it be to marry her to some ither lad?”
“You’re for Forfar because he is Fife.”
“You’re right—partly. I’m Fife mysel’. A’ my gude common sense comes frae Fife. But for that matter, the minister comes from the auld ‘kingdom’ too.”
They were talking in a little room adjoining the servants’ dining hall. The factor was smoking, Jessie stood on the stone hearth, tapping her foot restlessly upon it.
“What’s the man thinking o’?” she exclaimed after a little. “One would say you were at a funeral instead o’ a wedding.”
“Thoughts canna always be sent here or there, Jessie. I was wondering what would come o’ Drumloch if my lady took the Fife road. It would gie me sair een to see its bonnie braes in the market.”
“Think shame o’ yoursel’ for the vera thought—