“The waur token, when a leddy collogues wi’ a wuman aneth her ain station, an’ ane ’at has keppit (_caught in passing_) mony a secret in her day, an’ by her callin’ has had mair opportunity--no to say farther--than ither fowk o’ duin’ ill things! An’ gien _ye_ dinna ken her, that’s no rizzon ’at _I_ sudna hae a groff guiss at her by the marks ye read aff o’ her. I’ll jist hae to tell ye a story sic as an auld wife like me seldom tells till a yoong man like yersel’.” “Yer ain bridle sall rule my tongue, mem,” said Malcolm. “I s’ lippen to yer discretion,” said Miss Horn, and straightway began.--“Some years ago--an’ I s’ warran’ it’s weel ower twinty --that same wuman, Bawby Cat’nach,--wha was nae hame-born wuman, nor had been lang aboot the toon--comin’ as she did frae naebody kent whaur, ’cep maybe it was the markis ’at than was--preshumed to mak up to me i’ the w’y o’ frien’ly acquantance--sic as a maiden leddy micht hae wi’ a howdy--an’ no ’at she forgot her proaper behaviour to ane like mysel’. But I cudna hae bidden (_endured_) the jaud, ’cep ’at I had rizzons for lattin’ her jaw wag. She was cunnin’, the auld vratch,--no that auld--maybe aboot forty,-- but I was ower mony for her. She had the design to win at somethin’ she thoucht I kent, an’ sae, to enteece me to open my pock, she opent hers, an’ tellt me story efter story aboot this neebour an’ that--a’ o’ them things ’at ouchtna to ha’ been true, an ’at she ouchtna to ha’ loot pass her lips gien they war true, seein’ she cam by the knowledge o’ them so as she said she did. But she gat naething o’ me--the fat-braint cat!--an’ she hates me like the verra mischeef.” Miss Horn paused and took a sip of her negus.