I think it was the prettiest sight that ever I beheld; the well of the close was all in clear shadow where a man could see distinctly, the walls very black and dingy; and there from the barred loophole I saw two faces smiling across at me--Miss Grant's and Catriona's. "There!" says Miss Grant, "I wanted her to see you in your braws like the lass of Limekilns. I wanted her to see what I could make of you, when I buckled to the job in earnest!" It came in my mind she had been more than common particular that day upon my dress: and I think that some of the same care had been bestowed upon Catriona. For so merry and sensible a lady, Miss Grant was certainly wonderful taken up with duds. "Catriona!" was all I could get out. As for her, she said nothing in the world, but only waved her hand and smiled to me, and was suddenly carried away again from before the loophole. The vision was no sooner lost than I ran to the house door, where I found I was locked in; thence back to Miss Ramsay, crying for the key, but might as well have cried upon the castle rock. She had passed her word, she said, and I must be a good lad. It was impossible to burst the door, even if it had been mannerly; it was impossible I should leap from the window, being seven storeys above ground. All I could do was to crane over the close and watch for their reappearance from the stair. It was little to see, being no more than the tops of their two heads each on a ridiculous bobbin of skirts, like to a pair of pincushions. Nor did Catriona so much as look up for a farewell; being prevented (as I heard afterwards) by Miss Grant, who told her folk were never seen to less advantage than from above downward. On the way home, as soon as I was set free, I upbraided Miss Grant with her cruelty. "I am sorry you was disappointed," says she demurely. "For my part I was very pleased. You looked better than I dreaded; you looked--if it will not make you vain--a mighty pretty young man when you appeared in the window. You are to remember that she could not see your feet," says she, with the manner of one reassuring me. "O!" cried I, "leave my feet be, they are no bigger than my neighbor's." "They are even smaller than some," said she, "but I speak in parables like a Hebrew prophet." "I marvel little they were sometimes stoned!" says I. "But you miserable girl, how could you do it? Why should you care to tantalise me with a moment?" "Love is like folk," says she, "it needs some kind of vivers."[22] "O, Barbara, let me see her properly!" I pleaded. "_You_ can, you see her when you please; let me have half an hour." "Who is it that is managing this love affair? You? Or me?" she asked, and as I continued to press her with my instances, fell back upon a deadly expedient: that of imitating the tones of my voice when I called on Catriona by name; with which, indeed, she held me in subjection for some days to follow.