"See here, William Gordon, what mean you by that? What if her eyebrows meet under her chin and her ears hang down like band strings? What is that to you?"
"Happily nothing!" said I—for I was patiently paying him out, as it is ever easy to do with a spit-fire like young Lochinvar.
"Speak plain, Will," he cried, "or by the Lord I will immediately run you through!"
"With a spade," said I, mocking. "Mind, Wat, you are a laird's second gardener now."
But when I perceived that he was really angry, I hastened to appease him.
"Joined eyebrows and lobeless ear have been held by learned folk to prefigure some temper, Wat!" I said.
His brow cleared on an instant.
"Pshaw!" he exclaimed, "I like a lass with a sparkle. No mim missie for Wat Gordon of Lochinvar, but a lass that keeps you in doubt till the last moment, whether your best wooing will speed you to a kiss or a bodkin-prick—that's the maid for me!"
"For me, I would e'en take the kiss," I said—"take it plain!"
"Tush, slow-coach!" he said, "your Earlstoun blood always did run like so much moss water!"