“Dagont,” cried Birse, “it’s Wearywarld, and he has been hearkening. Leave him to me.”
When the post returned, the conversation was back at Mr. Dishart.
“Yes, lathies,” Haggart was saying, “daftness about women comes to all, gentle and simple, common and colleged, humourists and no humourists. You say Mr. Dishart has preached ower muckle at women to stoop to marriage, but that makes no differ. Mony a humorous thing hae I said about women, and yet Chirsty has me. It’s the same wi’ ministers. A’ at aince they see a lassie no’ unlike ither lassies, away goes their learning, and they skirl out, ‘You dawtie!’ That’s what comes to all.”
“But it hasna come to Mr. Dishart,” cried Rob Dow, jumping to his feet. He had sought Haggart to tell him all, but now he saw the wisdom of telling nothing. “I’m sick o’ your blathers. Instead o’ the minister’s being sweethearting yesterday, he was just at the Kaims visiting the gamekeeper. I met him in the Wast town-end, and gaed there and back wi’ him.”
“That’s proof it’s a Glasgow leddy,” said Snecky.
“I tell you there’s no leddy ava!” swore Rob.
“Yea, and wha sends the baskets o’ flowers, then?”
“There was only one flower,” said Rob, turning to his host.
“I aye understood,” said Haggart heavily, “that there was only one flower.”