“Grizzie’s some rouch hersel’ whiles,” remarked Aggie quietly.
“That’s ower true,” assented Cosmo; “but a man sud never behave like that til a wuman.”
“Say that to the man,” rejoined Aggie. “The wuman can haud aff o’ hersel’.”
“Grizzie, I grant ye, ’s mair nor a match for ony man; but ye’re no sae lang i’ the tongue, Aggie.”
“Think ye a lang tongue ’s a lass’s safety, Cosmo? I wad awe nane til ’t! But what’s ta’en ye the nicht, ’at ye speyk to me sae? I ken no occasion.”
“Aggie, I wadna willin’ly say a word to vex ye,” answered Cosmo; “but I hae notit an h’ard ’at the best ’o wuman whiles tak oonaccootable fancies to men no fit to haud a can’le to them.”
Aggie turned her head aside.
“I wad ill like you, for instance, to be drawn to yon Crawford,” he went on. “It’s eneuch to me ’at he’s been lang the factotum o’ an ill man.”
A slight convulsive movement passed across Aggie’s face, leaving behind it a shadow of hurtless resentment, yielding presently to a curious smile.
“I micht mak a better man o’ ’im,” she said, and again looked away.