"I think—no," said she.
"Thank you," said he. "Do you read Tennyson?"
"No," said she, "Burns."
McTavish sighed helplessly. Then a light of mischief came into his eye.
"As Burns says," said he:
"'If you are not the heiress born,
And I,' said he, 'the lawful heir,
We two will wed to-morrow morn,
And you shall still be Lady Clare,'"
"I love every word Burns wrote," she said enthusiastically, and
McTavish, though successful, was ashamed.
"McTavish," she said, "the other day, when I felt that I had to get here before you, I promised my driver ten pounds if he beat your car,"
"Yes," said McTavish, "I guessed what was up, and told my man to go slower. It wasn't the psychological moment for either of us to break our necks, was it?"
"No; but I promised the man ten pound, McTavish—and I hay'na got it."
"Ten pounds ought to have a certain purchasing power," said he.