“Maybe it would be best to tell me, Robert,” she said aloud, humbly, “what folk you were thinking to ask—and then I would ken.”
“Well, Janet,” said the minister graciously, “there’s Mr Halbert Graeme and Miss Maxwell of Mossgray.”
Miss Insches lifted up her hands in the extremity of her astonishment.
“The young lady of Mossgray!”
“Why not?” exclaimed the Reverend Robert, indignantly impatient. “I am astonished, Janet;—you forget my position—you forget—”
“No me, Robert—no me,” ejaculated his penitent sister.
“And I suppose we must have some of the brethren,” continued Robert, after a pause. “There’s Mr Wright of the quoad sacra at Fairholm; but then we could not ask him without his wife, and she—you know he made a very foolish marriage.”
“Ay,” responded Miss Insches promptly; “he married Willie Tasker the joiner’s daughter, at Todholes, a bonnie-like wife for a minister. Weel, Robert, maybe I am not proud enough, but I would have you marry naebody but a lady.”
The Reverend Robert blushed a little.
“Do you know, Janet, little Hope Oswald has a theory that ladies are not made but born—not what you call well-born however; suppose we call on Mrs Wright and see what sort of a person she is. Wright has been very foolish, no doubt, but if we can consistently notice him, we should—” Mr Insches drew himself up, and thought of Mossgray’s graceful courtesy to the solitary Helen.