'Oh, I have thoosands to tell, if I like, but I'm no' gaun to tell ye a thing,' replied Liz flatly; but her candour did not even make Teen wince. She was used to it in the old days, and expected nothing else.
'Oh, jist as ye like,' she answered serenely. 'But, tell me, did ye ever gang to London?'
'No,' replied Liz, 'I never went to London. Did ye think I had?'
'Yes. We—that is, some o's thocht—Walter an' me, onyway—that ye had gane to the theatre in London to be an actress. It was gey shabby, I thocht, to gang the way ye did, withoot sayin' a cheep to me, efter a' the plans we had made,' said Teen, with equal candour.
'Maybe it was,' said Liz musingly, and, with her magnificent eyes fixed on the fire, relapsed into silence again, and Teen saw that her face was troubled. Her heart yearned over her unspeakably, and she longed for fuller confidence, which Liz, however, had not the remotest intention of giving.
'I dinna think, judgin' frae appearances, that ye have bettered yoursel', said the little seamstress slowly.
'Ye think richt. I made wan mistake, Teen—the biggest mistake o' a',' she replied, and her mouth became very stern and bitter, and a dull gleam was visible in her eyes.
Teen waited breathlessly, in the hope that Liz would still confide in her, but having thus delivered herself, she again relapsed into silence.
'What way are ye bidin' at Maryhill?' she asked after a bit, and the same note of suspicion which had been in Walter's questions sounded through her voice. It made the colour rise in the sharply-outlined cheek of Liz, and she replied angrily,—
'It's news ye're wantin', an' ye're no' gaun to get it. Ye brocht me here again' my wull, but ye'll no' cross-question me. I can gang hame even yet. It's no' the first time I've gane hame in the mornin', onyway.'