Janet expressed no curiosity.
“They say Deacon Snow wants to take you down the brae.”
Still Mrs Nasmyth made no answer.
“He hasna ventured to hint such a thing?” exclaimed Graeme interrogatively.
“No’ to me,” said Janet, quietly, “but the minister.”
“The minister! He’s no’ blate! To think of him holding up his face to my father and proposing the like of that! And what did my father say?”
“I dinna ken what he said to him; but to me he said he was well pleased that it should be so, and—”
“Janet!” Graeme’s voice expressed consternation as well as indignation, Mrs Nasmyth took no notice, but seated herself to her stocking-darning.
“Janet! If you think of such a thing for a moment, I declare I’ll take second thoughts and go away myself.”
“Weel, I aye thought you might have done as weel to consider a wee afore you gave Mr Foster his answer,” said Janet, not heeding Graeme’s impatient answer.