"Ah, you are of an ancient and honourable family, Mr. Geddes," said the widow. "Cauldshouthers is a name as familiar to me as Oliver Castle, or Drochel, or Neidpath, or Drumelzier."
"I see ye hae a proper estimate o' the degrees o' dignity, dame," said he; "and, doubtless, ye'll mak the better use o' the fortune that has been left ye; but I could expect naething less frae ane o' the Duckpools. I'm thinking ye're o' the right Bertrams."
"Yes," replied she; "and then my husband was descended from the Shirleys, Earl Ferrars, and Baron Ferrars of Chartley. His arms were the same as the Beauchamps, at least he used to say so. What are your's, Mr. Geddes?"
"Maybe ye dinna ken heraldry, dame!" replied the laird. "Our arms are vert, three peat bags, argent—the maist ancient o' the bearings in Tweeddale; as, indeed, may be evinced frae the description—peat land being clearly the original soil. Would it no be lamentable to think that sae ancient a family should end in my person."
"It is in your own power to prevent that, Mr. Geddes!" answered she.
"Say rather in your power, dame Shirley!" rejoined he, determined to cut out the Linton heritor by one bold stroke.
"O Mr. Geddes!" sighed the widow, holding her head at the proper angle of naïveté.
"Nae wonder that she's owrepowered by the honour," muttered the suitor, as he took breath to finish what he had so resolutely begun. "I am serious, madam," he continued. "To be plain wi' ye, and come to the point at ance, I want a mistress to Cauldshouthers; and you are the individual wham I hae selected to do the honours o' that important situation."
"Oh—O Mr. Geddes!" again cried the dame. "You have such a winning way of wooing!"
"I fancy there canna be the slightest breath o' objection," again said he, in his consciousness of having ennobled her in an instant by the mere hint of the honour.