“I put him in rather an awkward position,” she said. “But he got over it most gracefully.”
Scottie looked at her a moment in silence. “Aye,” he said, vaguely but satisfactorily.
“Do you know,” Ess said, “I believe he is not as black as he has been painted.” She looked at him a little defiantly. “It’s horrid, being stand-offish and nasty to anyone, especially meeting him every day.” Scottie knew where she was now, but wisely attempted no argument.
“Aye,” he said again.
“So I’m just going to treat him the same as all the others,” she said. “And if he presumes on it, I think I’ll know how to stop him. He’s a gentleman, I believe, and won’t persist in ways a girl plainly shows she doesn’t like.”
“An’ what if they’re ways she does like?” asked Scottie, gently.
“Well?” she asked, the note of defiance a little more marked.
“‘Well,’ I hope,” said Scottie, gravely. “He’s a good enough lad at hairt, I believe, but he’s unstable as water wi’ wimmin folk—unstable as water.”
Ess laughed. “Don’t be afraid, I’m not going to fall in love with him. But I believe we’re going to be very good friends.”
Before she went to her bed that night she stood long looking out of her window.