“Whaur awa’, John?”
“To visit Rose’s aunt.”
“Na, na, John. D’ye no’ ken she’s a widow? Forbye, she’s a wee person, an’ none sae ill-lookin’——”
“You have seen her, then?”
“Glimpsed her, lad, from ayont the party wall. She’s my neighbour, y’ ken.”
“Why, then, come and meet her.”
“An’ her a widow-body, an’ me new shaved!”
“Shaved, Hector?”
“Aye! When fresh shaved I’m no’ sae ill-lookin’ mysel’, d’ye see, John. An’ I was ever a cautious body, as ye ken weel. So I’ll juist bide here an’ smoke a pipe wi’ Geordie Potter.... But, John”—and here Sir Hector’s English became precise—“there is a matter hath troubled me this week and more. John, she is a sweet, good maid, though mayhap a little overbearing now and then, and much above her condition.”