“And d’ye think I don’t know it!” she exclaimed furiously. “Do you think I don’t see in him all that is lacking in yourself, Sir John Dering? Simplicity, unselfishness, a noble innocence—the child in the man, thinking no evil. And think you I shall laugh at such? Oh, by heaven, I scorn you for so thinking——” “And by heaven, child, you swear as trippingly as any fine lady——” “Indeed, sir, my mistress is a pretty swearer, I’ve heard say!” “Howbeit, Rose, when you shall refuse Sir Hector’s generous and most ridiculous offer, as you surely will——” “Oh, shall I, sir?” “Beyond doubt!” “You are sure, sir?” “Positive!” “And pray why is your honour so very certain?” “Because you could never mother an old man in a cottage—or any other man, for that matter. The Spirit of Motherliness which is the true glory of woman is not within you, Rose, or ... perchance it sleepeth. Who can imagine you bringing a man his slippers, lighting his pipe, scheming out and cooking some dish for the joy of seeing him eat, making his comfort your happiness? Not I! For these are but everyday, small duties—very humble things in themselves which yet, in the sum, make up that divine Spirit of Motherhood, that self-sacrificing, patient, unwearying, humble service that lifteth woman very nigh the angels.” “Faith, sir,” she exclaimed contemptuously, “you talk finer than any parson and sound more sanctimonious than any good book that ever sent me to sleep! And remembering your honour’s reputation, what d’you know of angels, pray?” “Naught i’ the world, child! Yet even I have my dreams. Now as to yourself——” “Oh, I’m all body an’ no soul!” she exclaimed bitterly. “You have a fine, shapely body, girl——” “Oh, your honour flatters me!” “But your soul, Rose, your soul is—let us say asleep, and its place usurped by a wild spirit a-tiptoe for adventure, heedless of restraint, passionate, unreasoning and apt to plunge you into all manner o’ follies and dangers——” “And doth all this go to prove I shall refuse Sir Hector’s kind offer?” “And when you do, child, let your refusal be gentle; put on for him your tenderest air, act for him your sweetest, most innocent self——” “Oh, thank’ee kindly, Sir John Dering, your honour!” she broke out fiercely. “But when I give him my answer I shall speak, and act, and think, and look exactly how I please!” He was regarding my lady’s retreating back somewhat wistfully when Sir Hector joined him. “What hae ye done t’ offend th’ lassie, John?” he demanded. “I have been making up her mind to accept your offer, Hector.” “Eh—eh? You have, ye say, John—you?” “Myself, Hector! And yet, have I done right to influence the child, I wonder? Are you sufficiently old and reverend with years to become the guardian of a young and handsome girl?” “Old enough!” exclaimed Sir Hector indignantly. “Losh, man, am I no’ a person full o’ years ... aye, and an elder o’ the kirk, forbye? Am I no’ a puir auld sojer-man wi’ ane fut i’ the grave? Am I no’?”