Bethiah was quite conquered by this ‘mark of grace,’ though, I am afraid, she was also moved by more worldly considerations.  The first is, the lady had not the least objection to go to church on the arm of an elegantly dressed young gentleman, and be followed by a spruce servant with a cockade in his hat.  I could see it by the way she took possession of us, found us the places in the Bible, whispered to me the name of the minister, passed us lozenges, which I (for my part) handed on to Rowley, and at each fresh attention stole a little glance about the church to make sure she was observed.  Rowley was a pretty boy; you will pardon me if I also remembered that I was a favourable-looking young man.  When we grow elderly, how the room brightens, and begins to look as it ought to look, on the entrance of youth, grace, health, and comeliness!  You do not want them for yourself, perhaps not even for your son, but you look on smiling; and when you recall their images—­again, it is with a smile.  I defy you to see or think of them and not smile with an infinite and intimate, but quite impersonal, pleasure.  Well, either I know nothing of women, or that was the case with Bethiah McRankine.  She had been to church with a cockade behind her, on the one hand; on the other, her house was brightened by the presence of a pair of good-looking young fellows of the other sex, who were always pleased and deferential in her society and accepted her views as final.

These were sentiments to be encouraged; and, on the way home from church—­if church it could be called—­I adopted a most insidious device to magnify her interest.  I took her into the confidence, that is, of my love affair, and I had no sooner mentioned a young lady with whom my affections were engaged than she turned upon me a face of awful gravity.

‘Is she bonny?’ she inquired.

I gave her full assurances upon that.

‘To what denoamination does she beloang?’ came next, and was so unexpected as almost to deprive me of breath.

‘Upon my word, ma’am, I have never inquired,’ cried I; ’I only know that she is a heartfelt Christian, and that is enough.’

‘Ay!’ she sighed, ’if she has the root of the maitter!  There’s a remnant practically in most of the denoaminations.  There’s some in the McGlashanites, and some in the Glassites, and mony in the McMillanites, and there’s a leeven even in the Estayblishment.’

‘I have known some very good Papists even, if you go to that,’ said I.

‘Mr. Ducie, think shame to yoursel’!’ she cried.

‘Why, my dear madam!  I only—­’ I began.

‘You shouldnae jest in sairious maitters,’ she interrupted.