“Ay, an’ you are gaun to dae it, just as a bairn tak’s medicine; because you are forced.  I asked if that was a’, and it seems to be.  But what if I don’t have onything mair to dae with you?”

“You would not do that, Mysie,” he said hurriedly, and incredulously.  It had never entered his mind that she would refuse to marry him, and he looked upon his offer as a great service which he was doing her.  “Why, what could you do otherwise?” he asked looking blankly at her.

“I could work as I hae always done,” she said sharply.  “You surely think you are a catch.  Man, efter what has happened I feel that I wudna care than I never saw you again.  You hae little o’ rale manliness in you.  You thocht it was gran’ to carry on wi’ a workin’ lassie, maybe,” and there was bitter scorn in her voice, “an’ now when you hae landed yourself into a mess you are grinning like a bear with the branks an’ wantin’ to dae what is richt as you call it,” and Mysie was now really in a temper.

“Mysie, you must not speak like that,” he broke in, in earnest tones.  “You know I love you, and loving you as I do, I want to shield you as much—­”

“Ay, but you want to shield yourself first,” she said.

“No, dear, it is only of you I am thinking.  I love you very much and want to do what is right.  Even although this had not happened, I was going to ask you to be my wife.  Will you marry me, Mysie?”

“What’ll your folks say?” she asked bluntly.  “You ken that I’m no’ the wife you would have gotten nor the yin your folk would like you to get,” she said, searching his face with a keen look.  “I’m no’ born in your class.  I’m ignorant an’ have not the fine manners your wife should have, an’ I doot neither your faither nor your mither wad consent to such a thing.”

“But I won’t ask them,” he replied.  “I am a man for myself, and do not see why they should be asked to approve my actions in this.”

“Ay, that’s a’ richt; but what aboot your ain feelings in the matter?  Am I the lass you wad hae ta’en, Peter, if this hadna happened?” and there was a world of hungry appeal in her voice as she finished.  It was as if she wanted to be assured that it was for herself alone that he really wanted to marry her.

“Why should you not?” he enquired.

“That’s no’ the question,” she said, noting the evasion.  “You ken as weel as I dae that it wad be an ill match for you.  You’ve been brought up differently.  You’ve had eddication, an’ an easy life.  You’ve been trained faur differently, an’ you canna say that you’d no’ tire o’ me.  I have not as muckle learning as wad make me spell my ain name, an’ I could never fill the position o’ your wife with the folk I’d have to mix with.”

“That’s all right, Mysie,” he said, ready to counter her argument.  “You have not been educated, that is true, but it is only a question of having you trained.  If one woman can be educated and trained so can another.  This is what I propose to do:  I go back to Edinburgh in a fortnight to finish my last year.  My father has put the colliery into a company, and he has a large part of the management on his shoulders.  He expects when I come home next year to gradually retire.  I shall be the controlling power then, and he will slip out of the business and end his days in leisure.”