Then he turned upon me, short and sharp.
“You have kenned this some while, I’m jaloosin’?”
“Yes,” said I, for I felt that he might have me awkwardly trapped if he went on, “that is one of the reasons why I did not come home. I knew that Charlotte had made up her mind never to marry me——”
“And ye took it like that?” he cried; “man, ye havena muckle spunk!”
“It was not generally so thought at the time of the assault on the great house of Marnhoul,” I answered; “and indeed I remember one old gentleman about your figure, with a white crape over his nose, that shook me by the hand and took my name down in his book——”
“Wheesht—wheesht,” he said, looking about uneasily, “siccan things are better never minted so close to the Parliament House where bide the Red Fifteen!”
“Well,” said I, “that’s as may be, but I cannot have it said by you or any man that I lack spunk!”
“Oh,” said he, “though I never was troubled that gate mysel’—there’s mony a bold man has turned hen-hearted when it came to a question of the lasses. There’s Freddy here, one wad never think it of him, but there has he gotten yon lass that nearly did for me with her twa-pronged fork. She’s a smart hizzy, and will make a lively wife to some man. But I maun e’en be riding back to put a question or so to the man that has stown awa’ my bit ewe-lamb and put her in fold by the Water of Ae.”
At that moment Amelia came in with a triumphant smile. “It’s a laddie from the post, and he winna gie up the letter unless you pay him sevenpence for postage dues and a penny for himself!”
“There’s the sevenpence, and clash the door in his face!” I cried. For I was bravely well acquainted with the exigencies of these post-office “keelies.”