David Balfour: Being Memoirs Of His Adventures At Home And Abroad, The Second Part: In Which Are Set Forth His Misfortunes Anent The Appin Murder; His Troubles With Lord Advocate Grant; Captivity On The Bass Rock; Journey Into Holland And France; And Singular Relations With James More Drummond Or Macgregor, A Son Of The Notorious Rob Roy, And His Daughter CatrionaStevenson, Robert Louis
History
David Balfour: Being Memoirs Of His Adventures At Home And Abroad, The Second Part: In Which Are Set Forth His Misfortunes Anent The Appin Murder; His Troubles With Lord Advocate Grant; Captivity On The Bass Rock; Journey Into Holland And France; And Singular Relations With James More Drummond Or Macgregor, A Son Of The Notorious Rob Roy, And His Daughter Catriona
Stevenson, Robert Louis
Historical fiction; Scotland -- History -- 18th century -- Fiction
I would be ashamed to set down all he poured out to me in this beggarly
vein, or the very short and grudging answers that I made to him. There
were times when I was tempted to stop his mouth with some small change;
but whether it was from shame or pride--whether it was for my own sake
or Catriona's--whether it was because I thought him no fit father for
his daughter, or because I resented that grossness of immediate falsity
that clung about the man himself--the thing was clean beyond me. And I
was still being wheedled and preached to, and still being marched to and
fro, three steps and a turn, in that small chamber, and had already, by
some very short replies, highly incensed, although not finally
discouraged, my beggar, when Prestongrange appeared in the doorway and
bade me eagerly into his big chamber.
"I have a moment's engagement," said he; "and that you may not sit
empty-handed I am going to present you to my three braw daughters, of
whom perhaps you may have heard, for I think they are more famous than
papa. This way."
He led me into another long room above, where a dry old lady sat at a
frame of embroidery, and the three handsomest young women (I suppose) in
Scotland stood together by a window.
"This is my new friend, Mr. Balfour," said he, presenting me by the arm.
"David, here is my sister, Miss Grant, who is so good as keep my house
for me, and will be very pleased if she can help you. And here," says
he, turning to the three younger ladies, "here are my _three braw
dauchters_. A fair question to ye, Mr. Davie: which of the three is the
best favoured? And I wager he will never have the impudence to propound
honest Alan Ramsay's answer!"
Hereupon all three, and the old Miss Grant as well, cried out against
this sally, which (as I was acquainted with the verses he referred to)
brought shame into my own cheek. It seemed to me a citation unpardonable
in a father, and I was amazed that these ladies could laugh even while
they reproved, or made believe to.
Under cover of this mirth, Prestongrange got forth of the chamber, and I
was left, like a fish upon dry land, in that very unsuitable society. I
could never deny, in looking back upon what followed, that I was
eminently stockish; and I must say the ladies were well drilled to have
so long a patience with me. The aunt indeed sat close at her embroidery,
only looking now and again and smiling; but the misses, and especially
the eldest, who was besides the most handsome, paid me a score of
attentions which I was very ill able to repay. It was all in vain to
tell myself I was a young fellow of some worth as well as good estate,
and had no call to feel abashed before these lasses, the eldest not so
much older than myself, and no one of them by any probability half as
learned. Reasoning would not change the fact; and there were times when
the colour came into my face to think I was shaved that day for the
first time.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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