'I have been here a month and more,' Ronald said, taking the proffered hand.
'And never to look near me once—there's friendliness! Eh, and what a man you've grown to—ye were just a bit laddie when I saw ye last—but aye after the lasses, though—oh aye—bless me, what changes there hae been since then!'
'Well, Katie, it's not you that have changed much anyway,' said he, for he was making out again the old familiar girlish expression in the firmer features of the mature woman.
'And what's brought ye to Glasgow?' said she—but then she corrected herself: 'No, no; I'll have no long story wi' you standing on the pavement like that. Jump up behind, Ronald, lad, and come home wi' us, and we'll have a crack thegither——'
'Katie, dear,' said her companion, who was a little, white-faced, cringing and fawning old woman, 'let me get down and get up behind. Your cousin must sit beside ye——'
But already Ronald had swung himself on to the after seat of the vehicle; and Mrs. Menzies had touched the cob with her whip; and soon they were rattling away into the town.
'I suppose ye heard that my man was dead?' said she presently, and partly turning round.
'I think I did,' he answered rather vaguely.
'He was a good man to me, like Auld Robin Gray,' said this strapping widow, who certainly had a very matter-of-fact way in talking about her deceased husband. 'But he was never the best of managers, poor man. I've been doing better ever since. We've a better business, and not a penny of mortgage left on the tavern.'
'Weel ye may say that, Katie,' whined the old woman. 'There never was such a manager as you—never. Ay, and the splendid furniture—it was never thought o' in his time—bless 'm! A good man he was, and a kind man; but no the manager you are, Katie; there's no such another tavern in a' Glesca.'