‘I see what’s intil’t!’ cried Phemy, bursting into tears. ‘Ye tellt him hoo little ye thoucht o’ me, and that gart him change his min’!’
‘Wud he be worth greitin aboot gien that war the case, Phemy? But ye ken it wasna that! Ye ken ’at I jist cudna du onything o’ the sort!— I’m jist ashamed to deny’t!’
‘Hoo am I to ken? There’s nae a wuman born but wad fain hae him til hersel!’
Kirsty held her peace for pity, thinking what she could say to convince her of Gordon’s faithlessness.
‘He didna say he hadna promised?’ resumed Phemy through her sobs.
‘We camna upo’ that.’
‘That’s what I’m thinkin!’
‘I kenna what ye’re thinking, Phemy!’
‘What did ye gie him, Kirsty, whan he tauld ye—no ’at I believe a word o’ ’t—’at he wud nane o’ me?’
Kirsty laughed with a scorn none the less clear that it was quiet.