“It wass Mr. Mackenzie will ask if ye will tek a glass o’ whisky, sir, and a bit o’ bread and cheese. And he wass sayin’ there was no hurry at all, and he will wait for you for two hours or half an hour whatever.”
“All right, Duncan; go back and tell him I have finished, and we shall be there directly. No, thank you, don’t take out the whisky—unless, Miss Mackenzie,” added the young man with a smile, “Duncan can persuade you.”
Duncan looked with amazement at the man who dared to joke about Miss Sheila taking whisky, and without waiting for any further commands indignantly shut the lid of the basket and walked off.
“I wonder, Miss Mackenzie,” said Lavender, as they went along the path down the hill—“I wonder what you would say if I happened to call you Sheila by mistake?”
“I should be glad if you did that. Every one calls me Sheila,” said the girl quietly enough.
“You would not be vexed?” he said, regarding her with a little surprise.
“No; why should I be vexed?” she answered; and she happened to look up, and he saw what a clear light of sincerity there was shining in her eyes.
“May I then call you Sheila?”
“Yes.”
“But—but—” he said, with a timidity and embarrassment of which she showed no trace whatever—“but people might think it strange, you know; and yet I should greatly like to call you Sheila; only, not before other people perhaps.”