“If my visit to Dreepdaily should have no other result, Miss Binkie, I shall always esteem it one of the most fortunate passages of my life, since it has given me the privilege of your acquaintance.”
“Oh, Mr Dunshunner! How can you speak so? I am afraid you are a great flatterer!” replied Miss Binkie, pulling at the same time a sprig of geranium to pieces. “But you look tired—pray take a glass of wine.”
“By no means, Miss Binkie. A word from you is a sufficient cordial. Happy geranium!” said I, picking up the petals.
Now I know very well that all this sort of thing is wrong, and that a man has no business to begin flirtations if he cannot see his way to the end of them. At the same time, I hold the individual who dislikes flirtations to be a fool; and sometimes they are utterly irresistible.
“Now, Mr Dunshunner, I do beg you won’t! Pray sit down on the sofa, for I am sure you are tired; and if you like to listen, I shall sing you a little ballad I have composed to-day.”
“I would rather hear you sing than an angel,” said I; “but pray do not debar me the privilege of standing by your side.”
“Just as you please;” and Margaret began to rattle away on the harpsichord.
“O whaur hae ye been, Augustus, my son?
O whaur hae ye been, my winsome young man?
I hae been to the voters—Mither, mak my bed soon,
For I’m weary wi’ canvassing, and fain wad lay me doun.
O whaur are your plumpers, Augustus, my son?
O whaur are your split votes, my winsome young man?
They are sold to the Clique—Mither, mak my bed soon,
For I’m weary wi’ canvassing, and fain wad lay me doun.
O I fear ye are cheated, Augustus, my son,
O I fear ye are done for, my winsome young man!
‘I hae been to my true love——’”
I could stand this no longer.