“Ance mair, Aggie, what gies ye a richt to think sae ill o’ me?” demanded Cosmo.
“Jist the w’y ye behaved to mysel’.”
“Ye never tellt me ye couldna du wantin’ me!”
“I houp no, for it wadna hae been true. I can du wantin’ ye weel eneuch. But ye allooed ye wasna richt!”
“Ay—it was a presumption.”
“Ay! but what made it a presumption?”
Cosmo could not bear to say plainly to the girl he loved so much, that he had not loved her so as to have a right to ask her to marry him. He hesitated.
“Ye didna loe me eneuch,” said Aggie, looking up in his face.
“Aggie,” returned Cosmo, “I’m ready to merry ye the morn gien ye’ll hae me!”
“There noo!” exclaimed Aggie, in a sort of provoked triumph, “didna I tell ye! There ye are, duin’ ’t a’ ower again! Wasna I richt? Ye’re fit to tak care o’ onybody but yersel’—an’ the lass ’at wad fain hae ye! Eh, but sair ye need a sensible mitherly body like mysel’ to luik efter ye!”