Thus compelled, Malcolm had to explain that the motive lay in his anxiety lest his grandfather should over-exert himself, seeing he was subject to severe attacks of asthma.
“He could stop when he was tired,” she objected.
“Ay, gien his pride wad lat him,” answered Malcolm, and turned away again, eager to draw his line.
“Have you a boat of your own?” asked the lady.
“Ay; yon’s her, doon on the shore yonner. Wad ye like a row? She’s fine an’ quaiet.”
“Who? The boat?”
“The sea, my leddy.”
“Is your boat clean?”
“O’ a’ thing but fish. But na, it’s no fit for sic a bonny goon as that. I winna lat ye gang the day, my leddy; but gien ye like to be here the morn’s mornin’, I s’ be here at this same hoor, an’ hae my boat as clean ’s a Sunday sark.”
“You think more of my gown than of myself,” she returned.