One of Primrose’s first questions had been whether or not Johnny Fuggie should be sent away after Jenny. If necessary, Primrose would assume the responsibility of the dismissal, and save Peggy from every grain of the pain of it. But after consultation with Balcairnie, and on examination for herself, when the righteous young reformer found that the man had only been a tool in Jenny’s hands, like poor Cunnings, that he had got a wholesome warning, and was capable of being induced to behave with fitting respect and keep at a discreet distance from his mistress--especially when it was taken into account that he had a wife and family whom it would go to Peggy’s heart to punish through their bread-winner--Primrose agreed that Johnnie should remain on trial, so to speak. The trial, as in the case of Cunnings, ended well. Johnnie, in spite of his temporary aberration, his long tongue, and his foolish conceit, behaved thenceforth very tolerably under difficulties. If Peggy and he occasionally lapsed into too rash, free-and-easy gossip when she happened to be alone with him in the garden, it was probably as much her fault as his, and it might serve for a safety-valve in the tension of their relations. Though poor Peggy would flutter off like a lapwing when surprised in the indulgence, no serious harm followed, and Drumsheugh was the last man in the world to come down heavily on so natural and venial an offence. Peggy, as a rule, showed herself very docile and a very quick pupil. She only displayed a little restiveness now and then, when the lessons trenched too closely on much-prized associations. Primrose said one day, ‘You have very bonnie hair, Peggy, but I think I could let you see how to dress it better, so that your friends might more easily guess how long, and fine, and glossy it is.’ ‘This was the way Drumsheugh liked my hair busket lang syne,’ answered Peggy, a little jealously; ‘and if I were to alter it, then it would be to put on a mutch. My mother put on a mutch when she was married; she held that all married women should wear mutches,’ Peggy explained, evidently a little troubled that she had not complied with her mother’s standard. ‘But maybe Drumsheugh will like your hair busket in another fashion now,’ said Primrose persuasively. ‘His fancy may be as taken with the new as with the old way. His fondness does not rest with the past, it is to last all your lives, and it will always be finding out new beauties in his wife and her fashions. The glory of wedded love is its growth in fidelity and its fidelity in growth. It is, or should be, like God’s love--new every morning, and so it never gets stawed (satiated), or tires, or shifts. As for the mutch, you can always wear it of a morning in our rank, and you may come on to something like it of an evening, if my cousin Jamie bring you, as I should not wonder though he will, a fine lace ‘head’ of Mechlin or Valenciennes.’