"You've put your finger on the wrong, ma'am. Singing a psalm isna a thing fit to be done in your ain parlor on the Sunday. It is a' right in the Kirk, but it is a' wrang in the parlor."
"How is that?"
"You be to ask wiser folk than I am what's the differ. If you were singing the psalm o' the blessed Virgin itsel' and folk heard you, there would be no end o' the matter. You can sing without the piano, ma'am, it's the piano that's the blackguard on a Sunday."
"Thank you, McNab, for warning me. I have not learned the ways of the country yet."
"You'll never learn them, ma'am. They must be borned in ye, sucked in wi' your mither's milk, and thrashed into ye wi' your school lessons. Just gie them their ways, and stick to your ain. You can do that, McNab does. They are easy satisfied if it suits their convenience. Every soul in this house is at church but mysel', for I hae made collops the regular Sunday dinner, and no one but McNab can cook collops to suit Mrs. Traquair Campbell."
"I am sure she would not keep you from church to make collops."
"I am a Catholic, and she keeps me at home to make collops, to prevent me going to my ain church. God save us! she thinks she is keeping me from serving the devil."
"So you are a Catholic?"
"Glory be to God, I am a Catholic! Did you ever taste collops, ma'am?"
"I never heard of them."