"And how goes all in Tweeddale, my dear cousin?" said he. "I condole with you on your father's death. Ah, he was a good man indeed, and there are few like him nowadays. And how does Tam Todd, my friend, who has such a thick skull and merciless arm? And ah, I forgot! Pray forgive my neglect. How is fair Mistress Marjory, the coy maid who would have none of my courtesies?"
The amazing impudence of the fellow staggered me. It almost passed belief that he should speak thus of my father whose death had lain so heavily at his door. This I might have pardoned; but that at a public table he should talk thus of my love irritated me beyond measure. I acted as I do always when thus angered: I gave him a short answer and fell into a state of moody disquietude.
Meanwhile my cousin, with all the gallantry in the world, kept whispering his flatteries into the pretty ears of Mistress Kate. This was ever Gilbert's way. He would make love to every tavern wench and kiss every village lass on his course. 'Twas a thing I never could do. I take no credit for the omission, for it is but the way God makes a man. Whenever I felt in the way to trying it, there was always Marjory's face to come before my eyes and make me think shame of myself.
As I sat and watched these twain I had no eyes for any other. The very sight of Gilbert brought back to me all my boyhood in Tweedside, and a crowd of memories came surging in upon me. I fancied, too, that there was something of Marjory in the little graceful head at my cousin's elbow, and the musical, quick speech. I felt wretchedly jealous of him, God knows why; for the sight of him revived any old fragments which had long lain lurking in the corners of my mind; and as he chatted gaily to the woman at his side, I had mind of that evening at Barns when I, just returned from Glasgow college, first felt the lust of possession. I sat and moodily sipped my wine. Why had I ever left my own land and suffered my lady to be exposed to manifold perils? for with the first dawnings of jealousy and anger came a gnawing anxiety. I had never felt such a sickness for home before, and I cursed the man who had come to ruin my peace of mind. Yet my feeling toward my cousin was not that of hatred; indeed I could not refrain from a certain pity for the man, for I discerned in him much noble quality, and was he not of my own blood?
"Come now," I heard Mistress Kate simper, "I do not believe that tale of anyone, and above all, of him; for a soberer does not live. Fie, fie, Master Gilbert, I took you for a more generous man."
"On my faith, my dear, it is true," replied my cousin. "For all his docile looks, he is as fond of a game as the rest of us."
Now I guessed that my frolicsome cousin had been traducing me to the fair Kate, and I grew not a little hot. But his next word changed my heat into fierce anger. For my cousin continued:
"What saith the Latin poet?" and he quoted a couplet from Martial—a jest at the usual amusements of the seemingly decent man.
I know not where he had got hold of it, for he was no scholar; but it was full of the exceeding grossness which is scarcely to be found outside that poet. He thought, I could guess, that the girl understood no Latin, but, as I knew, she had a special proficiency in that tongue. She understood the jest only too well. A deep blush grew over her face from her delicate throat to the very borders of her hair. 'Twas just in such a way that Marjory had looked when I first told her my love; 'twas in such a fashion she had bade me farewell. The thought of her raised a great storm of passion in my heart against anyone who would dare thus to put a woman to shame. I strove hard to curb it, but I felt with each second that it would overmaster me.
"Well, John, what think you of my Latinity?" asked my cousin from over the table.