"Then," said he, rather sadly, but with an affectation of grave humour, "I am going to tell you a story. It is about a young lass, who was very proud, and who kept her thoughts very much to herself, and would not give her friends a chance of helping her. And she was very fond of a—a young Prince we will call him—who wanted to go away to the wars, and make a great name for himself. No one was prouder of the Prince than the girl, mind ye, and she encouraged him in everything, and they were great friends, and she was to give him all her diamonds, and pearls, and necklaces—she would throw them into his treasury, like a Roman matron—just that he might go away and conquer, and come back and marry her. But lo, and behold! one night all her jewels and bracelets were stolen! Then what does she do? Would ye believe it? She goes and quarrels with that young Prince, and tells him to go away and fight his battles for himself, and never to come back and see her any more—just as if any one could fight a battle wi’ a sore heart. Oh, she was a wicked, wicked lass, to be so proud as that, when she had many friends that would willingly have helped her.... Sit down, my girl, sit down, my girl, never mind the dinner; they can wait for us.... Well, ye see, the story goes on that there was an old man—a foolish old man—they used to laugh at him, because of his fine fishing-tackle, and the very few fish he caught wi’ the tackle—and this doited old body was always intermeddling in other people’s business. And what do you think he does but go and say to the young lass: ’Ha, have I found ye out? Is it left for an old man like me—and me a bachelor too, who should know but little of the quips and cranks of a young lass’s ways—is it left for an old man like me to find out that fine secret o’ yours?’ She could not say a word. She was dumbfounded. She had not the face to deny it: he _had_ found out what that wicked girl, with all her pride, and her martyrdom, and her sprained ankles, had been about. And what do you think he did then? Why, as sure as sure can be, he had got all the young lass’s property in his pocket; and before she could say Jack Robinson, he tells her that he is going to send straight off for the Prince—this very night—a telegram to London——" The girl had been trembling, and struggling with the hand that held hers. At last she sprang to her feet, with a cry of entreaty. "Oh, no, no, no, sir! You will not do that! You will not degrade me!" And then—this is her own account, mind—the Laird rose too, and still held her by the hand, and spoke sternly to her. "Degrade you?" said he. "Foolish lass! Come in to your dinner."