Bessie bridled, and drew herself up with pleased consciousness, as her mistress’s representative.
“I wonder at ye, Johnnie! how can ye speak such nonsense?”
“Is’t Miss Aytoun Mr. Lewis looks up for?” inquired Jacky.
Her companions answered with a laugh.
“I think,” said the boy, “for my ain part, that there’s not a young leddy in a’ Strathoran like Miss Aytoun. She’s out-o’-sight bonnier than Miss Anne.”
Jacky pushed him indignantly away.
“A fine judge you are. Like a big turnip your ain sel. A clumsy Swede, like what they give to the kye. But, Bessie, do you think Mr. Lewis is in—” Jacky hesitated, her own singular romance making it sacrilege to speak the usual word in presence of those ruder comrades: “do ye think Mr. Lewis likes Miss Alice? he’s no courting her?”
Bessie smiled, blushed, and looked dignified.
“O, Jacky, how do I ken?”
“Does Miss Alice like him?”