“Tell Lady Joan,” he said, “what for ye wadna merry me.”
“’Deed, my lady,” said Agnes, her face also like a setting sun, “ye may believe onything he tells ye, jist as gien it war gospel. He disna ken hoo to mak a lee.”
“I know that as well as you,” replied Lady Joan.
“Na, ye canna du that, ’cause ye haena kent him sae lang.”
“Will you tell me why you would not marry him?”
“For ae thing, ’cause he likit you better nor me, only he thoucht ye was merried, an’ he didna like lattin’ me gang frae the hoose.”
“Thank you, Agnes,” said Joan, with a smile nothing less than heavenly. “He was so obstinate!”
And with that she slipped from the saddle, threw her arms round Aggie’s neck, and kissed her.
Aggie returned her embrace with simple truth, then drawing gently away, said, putting her hand before her eyes as if she found the sun too strong, “It’s verra weel for you, my lady; but it’s some sair upo’ me; for I tellt him he sudna merry his mither, an’ ye’re full as auld as I am.”
Joan gave a sigh.