Chapter Twenty.
“Will I like a fule, quo’ he,
For a haughty hizzie dee?”
There was work enough waiting him, if he were to carry out the plans he had pleased himself with making, before ever he had seen the face of Allison Bain. In one year more he had hoped to get to the end of his university course. If not in one year, then in two. After that, the world was before him and hard work.
“It has happened well,” he was saying to himself, as he still stood looking at the corner of the street. “Yes, it has happened well. I am glad she is gone away. If she had been staying on in Nethermuir, it might not have been so easy for me to put her out of my thoughts. It has happened well.”
And then he turned and went down the street “with his nose in the air,” as was said by a humble friend of his who saw him, but whom he did not see.
“I must have my turn of folly like the lave (the rest), as auld Crombie would say. And ‘it’s weel over,’ as he would also say, if he kenned all. I must to my work again.”
Then he turned the corner and came face to face with the husband of Allison Bain. John’s impulse during the space of one long-drawn breath was to knock the man down and trample him under his feet. Instead of this, in answer to Brownrig’s astonished question, “Have you forgotten me?” John met his extended hand and stammered:
“I did not expect to see you. And for the moment—certainly—”