'I—I dinna ken for certain. He didna say so to me, but I imagined he looked that wey,' she said. 'Mebbe I read his face wrang. I'm trustin' I did, but—but I see for mysel' that Nathan's far frae weel.'
'Yes, Betty, we all know that; but I'm sure there's nothing serious. He's got a bad cold, a very bad chill, the doctor tells me; but with a good rest in bed and careful nursing he'll soon be up and about again.'
'I'm dootin' it's mair than a chill, Maister Weelum,' and she shook her head; 'an' it strikes me that Nathan kens it's something mair serious. He's tryin' no' to let on to me; but the mair he tries the clearer I see it. Ay, him an' me have come to that time o' life when we depend a guid deal on yin anither, an' lately I've noticed that he's been anxious to do mair for me than he's able. We lippen on yin anither in a quiet kind o' a wey, ye ken—never askin' or demandin', but aye expectin', an' aye gettin'. Ay, Maister Weelum, aye gettin' an' aye gi'in', an' it's through this wee peep-hole that Nathan an' me, an' ithers happily married like us, get a wee bit glisk o' a heaven on earth.'
I pondered over these words for a moment. 'Betty,' I said, 'that's a beautiful way of putting it.'
'Ay, it may be beautiful—it may be, I say, Maister Weelum. I'm no' a judge o' that; but it's true—an' I feel it's true; an' the best wish I can wish ye is that some day my experience in this will be yours.' And she wiped her cheek with her apron, and smoothed imaginary creases out of the tablecover with the back of her hand.
'And—and, Betty, you must love Nathan very much?'
'Yes,' she said promptly, 'I love Nathan; but no' so much as I have reason to, an' no' mair than he deserves.'
'And was Nathan the only sweetheart you ever had, Betty?' I suddenly asked.
She rose from her chair and turned her face to the window. 'Dear me, Maister Weelum, that's a queer question to ask! What put that into your heid?'
'Oh, I don't know, Betty. I've often wondered.'