“But no man likes to be refused by the girl he loves.”

“Eh?  Refused, say ye?  Wha has refused you?”

“Isabel Strang.  I have loved her, as you and Jenny know, since we went to school together, and I was sure that she loved me.  Two days ago I had some business with Deacon Strang, and when it was finished I spoke to him anent Isabel.  He made me no answer then, one way or the other, but told me he would have a talk with Isabel, and I might call on him this afternoon.  When I did so he said he felt obligated to refuse my offer.”

“Weel?”

“That is all.”

“Nonsense!  Hae you seen Isabel hersel’?”

“She went to Edinburgh last night.”

“And if you were your uncle, lad, you would hae been in Edinburgh too by this time.  Your uncle would not stay refused twenty-four hours, if he thought the lass loved him.  Tut, tut, you ought to hae left at once; that would hae been mair like a Callendar than ganging to your ain room to sit out a scorning.  There is a train at ten o’clock to-night; you hae time to catch it if ye dinna lose a minute, and if you come back wi’ Mrs. David Callendar, I’ll gie her a warm welcome for your sake.”

The old man’s face was aglow, and in his excitement he had risen to his feet with the very air of one whom no circumstances could depress or embarrass.  David caught his mood and his suggestion, and in five minutes he was on his way to the railway depot.  The thing was done so quickly that reflection had formed no part of it.  But when Jenny heard the front-door clash impatiently after David, she surmised some imprudence, and hastened to see what was the matter.  John told her the “affront” David had received, and looked eagerly into the strong, kindly face for an assurance that he had acted with becoming promptitude and sympathy.  Jenny shook her head gravely, and regarded the deacon with a look of pitying disapproval.  “To think,” she said, “of twa men trying to sort a love affair, when there was a woman within call to seek counsel o’.”

“But we couldna hae done better, Jenny.”

“Ye couldna hae done warse, deacon.  Once the lad asked ye for money, and ye wouldna trust him wi’ it; and now ye are in sic a hurry to send him after a wife that he maun neither eat nor sleep.  Ye ken which is the maist dangerous.  And you, wi’ a’ your years, to play into auld Strang’s hand sae glibly!  Deacon, ye hae made a nice mess o’ it.  Dinna ye see that Strang knew you twa fiery Hielandmen would never tak ‘No,’ and he sent Isabel awa on purpose for our Davie to run after her.  He kens weel they will be sure to marry, but he’ll say now that his daughter disobeyed him; sae he’ll get off giving her a bawbee o’ her fortune, and he’ll save a’ the plenishing and the wedding expenses.  Deacon, I’m ashamed o’ you.  Sending a love-sick lad on sic a fool’s errand.  And mair, I’m not going to hae Isabel Strang, or Isabel Callendar here.  A young woman wi’ bridish ways dawdling about the house, I canna, and I willna stand.  You’ll hae to choose atween Deacon Strang’s daughter and your auld cousin, Jenny Callendar.”