For a moment he could not speak. Her wonderful perfection of beauty startled him. He drew her closely into his arms, kissing her with almost pathetic tenderness. “Mary, my love, my sweet lass!” and his voice trembled. “Pleased! Good Heavens, what little words those are to express my feelings. I can tell ye how you look, for nothing can ever make ye vain! Ye’re the most beautiful lassie I’ve ever seen! Ah, but I’m proud of ye this night. Ye’re fit to wear a coronet, Mary lass! I ken there will not be a grand lady at the ball to-night who will look half sae bonnie, nor hae such sweet, dainty manners, as my country sweetheart.” He held her off at arm’s length and glanced with affectionate adoration, from the fair, golden-crowned head down to the point of the small pearl-embroidered slipper that peeped beneath the edge of the rich, sheeny white robe. “It seems so strange to be here in Edinburgh, decked out in all this finery,” she murmured dreamily, “and on my way to a real ball. Is it really me?” “Aye, ’tis ye, Mary, I’ll swear to that!” he cried heartily, kissing the sweet, ingenuous face raised to his so wistfully. She blushed with pleasure, and bashfully turned her head away. “Ye dinna’ think I look awkward, do ye laddie?” she inquired in a low, timid voice. “Nay, ye’re grace itself, sweetheart!” he replied reassuringly, raising her chin till her drooping eyes met his. “An’ ye wouldna ken I was only a dairymaid if it werena for my speech, would ye?” she interrogated, with pathetic hopefulness. Her concerned, anxious little face and wistful manner touched him deeply. “I wouldna have ye changed for all the world, Mary!” he told her tenderly, pressing his lips to the one little curl which hung unconfined over her snowy shoulder. “Be your own pure, sweet self always, for ye’re the fairest of all God’s creatures to me noo.” She gave a deep sigh of absolute content, and leaned against him silently for a moment. Then she looked up at him brightly. “This fine dress makes me quite a grand lady, doesna’ it?” she prattled innocently. “Aye! every inch a queen!” and he made her a deep bow. “But it isna mine, Robbie,” she whispered confidentially. “I borrowed it for the night only, like Cinderella in the fairy book, to make my début into fashionable society,” and she laughed gleefully, like a little child telling a wonderful secret. “It’s Mrs. Dunlop’s wedding gown, Robbie; isna it just sweet?” She passed her hand gently over the folds of the silk and there was awe and reverence in the touch. “Oh, how I love to smooth it, ’tis so soft an’ rich an’ glossy; it isna’ wrong to love the beautiful things, is it, laddie?” she asked earnestly.