“Would you know her again?”
“Ay wad I—fine that. What for no, sir?”
“It’s a good way to see a lady across the Thames and know her again.”
“Ow! but I tuik the spy-glaiss till her,” answered Davy, reddening.
“You are sure of her, then?”
“I am that, sir.”
“Then come with me, and I will show you where she lives. I will not ride faster than you can run. But mind you don’t look as if you belonged to me.”
“Na, na, sir. There’s fowk takin’ nottice.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“There’s a wee laddie been efter mysel’ twise or thrice.”