“An’ if a milkin’-wench makes bold for once wi’ th’ mistress o’ her own house an’ lands, ’tis that I ha’ lile time to waste. Miss Stubbs, ye’ll be—oh!—ye’ll be kind to him!” She buried her face in her sleeve against the white wall, and Harriet, bewildered, seized the poss-stick again.
“Is th’ lass gane daft? Here’s another doin’ thy courtin’ for thee, Harriet; thou’ll dee a wed woman yet, th’ next earthquake or th’ next after that.—Now, thou foolish wench, when thou’s done greetin’ happen thou’ll gi’e thy tongue a chance?”
“I am na’ greetin’,” said the girl, raising her big eyes that were quite dry, “an’ I’ll tell ye i’ four words. He wad ha’ borne me on to Rigg village, i’ Scotland, where Davie Laing th’ blacksmith weds ’em for a crown; but I wadna. He maun wed wi’ his father’s goodwill, if it braks my heart; an’ I ken who that is. ’Twad be a sin to lo’e him, another’s; I winna think mair o’ him, an’ I’ll see him na mair.”
Harriet bent her eyes on her.
“So that’s it? Thou’s like Joss Tait, th’ cobbler, who says fowk’s welcome to what he doesn’t want. I’m obliged to ye, Miss Elizabeth Wyatt.—Why, thou hussy,” she broke out suddenly, but she looked away from Bessie, “hast th’ face to come here wi’ thy handin’s-on? Daur ye tell me I canna choose where I like? D’ye tell me I’m six-and-thirty, an’ ha’ packthread o’ my lip, an’ maun be thankful for what I can get?—Ay, but I ken Harry Butler better nor ye, an’ he’s a bonnie ’un to ken—a bonnie ’un to ken!”
“Ye ken na wrang o’ him!” the girl said, flashing her handsome eyes suddenly.
“Tch, ye baggage, dinna tell me what I ken, chance I fetch ye a thwack wi’ th’ poss-stick! I maun tak’ ower thy cast-off an’ be kind to him!—Are his kisses o’ thy lips this day?”
“Ay, are they!” the girl replied proudly, “an’ wad they were branded there wi’ a coal if I could remember him th’ longer for it!”
Harriet winced, and fixed her shrewish eyes on Bessie.
“So that’s thy forgettin’ him that’s another’s! Well, I bless th’ Lord for every freckle I’ve got, for ye red and black witches, good men losses their heads at th’ blink o’ th’ de’il i’ your een! Scotland! Are ye na feared o’ Rebecca an’ her Sweepin’s, then?”