“Nay, ye’re grace itself, sweetheart!” he replied reassuringly, raising her chin till her drooping eyes met his.
“An’ ye wouldna ken I was only a dairymaid if it werena for my speech, would ye?” she interrogated, with pathetic hopefulness. Her concerned, anxious little face and wistful manner touched him deeply.
“I wouldna have ye changed for all the world, Mary!” he told her tenderly, pressing his lips to the one little curl which hung unconfined over her snowy shoulder. “Be your own pure, sweet self always, for ye’re the fairest of all God’s creatures to me noo.”
She gave a deep sigh of absolute content, and leaned against him silently for a moment. Then she looked up at him brightly. “This fine dress makes me quite a grand lady, doesna’ it?” she prattled innocently.
“Aye! every inch a queen!” and he made her a deep bow.
“But it isna mine, Robbie,” she whispered confidentially. “I borrowed it for the night only, like Cinderella in the fairy book, to make my début into fashionable society,” and she laughed gleefully, like a little child telling a wonderful secret. “It’s Mrs. Dunlop’s wedding gown, Robbie; isna it just sweet?” She passed her hand gently over the folds of the silk and there was awe and reverence in the touch. “Oh, how I love to smooth it, ’tis so soft an’ rich an’ glossy; it isna’ wrong to love the beautiful things, is it, laddie?” she asked earnestly.
“Nay,” replied Robert, smiling tenderly at her naïveté. “Love the pretty things all ye like, dearie, for hereafter ye shall have the finest gowns in town. Ye shall select whatsoever your fancy pleases—dresses, bonnets, mits, boots,” and he enumerated on his fingers all the articles he could remember so dear to a woman’s heart.
“Shall I really, really?” she gasped as he finished, looking at him with wondering eyes. “I hae never bought a pretty thing in a’ my life, ye ken, an’ oh, won’t it be just sweet? We’ll go to the shops to-morrow, an’ Mrs. Dunlop will help me select my—my wedding gown.” She held her head away bashfully, blushing pink before the sudden fire that gleamed in the dark eyes bent on her so devotedly.
“Your wedding gown?” he repeated, with dreamy softness. “Let it be silk, Mary, white, soft and shimmering, to float around ye like a cloud of sunshine. An’ ye must have a bridal veil too, lassie, one sae fine an’ transparent that it will cover ye o’er like the morning mist.”
“I would be afraid to buy so much,” she replied gravely. “’Twould be too costly, an’ ye canna’ afford to waste sae much money to deck me out like a lady,” and she shook her head in firm disapproval.