“Na, no me,” said the old butler. “I’m but showing my sense. There’s many a braw lad of my years, with guid prospects, excellent prospects, and nae incumbrances, that would please his e’e with some bit gilflirt o’ twenty, raither than satisfy his mind as I’m doing. Therefore, Betty Simpson, my woman, if you’ve naething to say against it, there’s my hand, I’ll ne’er beguile ye. As for the bairns, as there’s but two, and them grown up, I’ll look over the bairns.” “Lord bless the man, his head’s clean turned,” cried Mrs. Simpson. “Look over the bairns! They’re nae sin that I should be excused for them. Na, na. Naebody that’s no proud to have them--a callant that’s a credit to a’ belonging to him, and as trig a lass of sixteen as ever steppit, and extraordinary clever with her hands for her age--” “I tell you I’ll look over them,” said Fleming. “I’ve nae incumbrances mysel’; but since they’re there, and canna be made away wi’, I’ll put up with them, my woman. Ye may take me or ye may leave me. I’m no forcing ye one way or the other; but here I am, no an ill man, though I say it that shouldna, and you’ll be a great fuil if ye dinna close the bargain. That’s a’ I’ve got to say.” “Ye’re but an auld haverel yourself to talk any such nonsense,” said the housekeeper, beginning to melt. “But if I could be sure ye meant a’ ye say----” “A’, and mair, my deary,” said Fleming, advancing with antiquated gallantry. “But it’s no the time nor the season,” he continued, making a pause. “I’ll gi’e ye what proof ye like at a mair convenient moment. A’, and mair.” “If ye werena such an auld whillie-wha--” said the housekeeper; but she finally withdrew, with a promise to turn it over in her mind. Fleming was not tortured by any serious anxiety. He nodded his head when he was left by himself with a satisfied smile. “That’s done!” he said to himself decisively, and prepared to carry in the tray for the afternoon tea, with sentiments of genial placidity and benevolence. These amiable feelings, however, were doomed to be soon ruffled. “Bring it here,” said Matilda, impetuously; “do you think I am going to get up off my chair to go to the other end of the room? Wheel that table up to the sofa and place it here.” “The table will have to go back again, I’m thinking, Mistress Chairles, when you’re done,” said Fleming. “It’s one that belongs to auld Mr. Charles Heriot, no to the house.” “Hold your tongue, Sir; I was not consulting you,” cried Matilda. “I never heard a servant venture to talk so. You will please to recollect, that sort of thing might do with Miss Heriot, but it will not do with me. She might put up with it, but I shan’t. If you cannot be quiet and respectful, you had better make up your mind to go at once.” “I’ll do that, Mistress Chairles,” said Fleming. “You and me will never ’gree, I see weel. I’ve settled to leave at the term; but if it’s mair agreeable to you to gie me board wages and so forth----”