“Catriona!” was all I could get out.
As for her, she said nothing in the world, but only waved her hand and smiled to me, and was suddenly carried away again from before the loophole.
That vision was no sooner lost than I ran to the house door, where I found I was locked in; thence back to Miss Ramsay, crying for the key, but might as well have cried upon the castle rock. She had passed her word, she said, and I must be a good lad. It was impossible to burst the door, even if it had been mannerly; it was impossible I should leap from the window, being seven storeys above ground. All I could do was to crane over the close and watch for their reappearance from the stair. It was little to see, being no more than the tops of their two heads each on a ridiculous bobbin of skirts, like to a pair of pincushions. Nor did Catriona so much as look up for a farewell; being prevented (as I heard afterwards) by Miss Grant, who told her folk were never seen to less advantage than from above downward.
On the way home, as soon as I was set free, I upbraided Miss Grant with her cruelty.
“I am sorry you was disappointed,” says she demurely. “For my part I was very pleased. You looked better than I dreaded; you looked—if it will not make you vain—a mighty pretty young man when you appeared in the window. You are to remember that she could not see your feet,” says she, with the manner of one reassuring me.
“O!” cried I, “leave my feet be—they are no bigger than my neighbours’.”
“They are even smaller than some,” said she, “but I speak in parables like a Hebrew prophet.”
“I marvel little they were sometimes stoned!” says I. “But, you miserable girl, how could you do it? Why should you care to tantalise me with a moment?”
“Love is like folk,” says she; “it needs some kind of vivers.” [[22]]
“Oh, Barbara, let me see her properly!” I pleaded. “You can—you see her when you please; let me have half an hour.”