“Perhaps not—but we baith hae our ain way o’ sinning, Margot, you ken that.”
“Speak for yoursel’, gudeman!”
“Finlay said——”
“Kay! Kay! I’ll no be fashed wi’ Finlay’s foolishness. I’m awa’ to my sleep. My lad, my dear lad, you are heart-weary. I’m sorry for you.”
“Wait a moment, Margot. Finlay says he has nae doubt Neil has married ten thousand pounds a year. Think o’ that!”
“I’ll think of nae such foolishness. And if it was twenty thousand, the lad would need it all—we hae brought him up sae badly!”
Margot disappeared with the words, and the unhappy father as he covered the fire, and pottered about the house, said sorrowfully:
“She’s right! She’s always right. If her words are in the way o’ reproach, it’s my fault! James Ruleson’s fault! I ought to hae stood out against the Maraschal. If we had made him a minister, he would hae been obligated to set an example to a kirkful o’ men and women, and folks will sin against their ain house, when they will do their duty to a kirkful.”