"Why did you move, then," persisted ⟨the⟩ girl, who understood what he said (illegible text)st about half.
"Wed, my leddy, ye see it's het, an' (illegible text)m aye amang the fish mair or less, an' ⟨I⟩ didna ken 'at I was to hae the honor ⟨o'⟩ sittin' doon aside ye; sae I thocht ye ⟨was⟩ maybe smellin' the fish. It's healthy (illegible text)euch, but some fowk disna like it; an' (illegible text)r a' that I ken, you gran' fowk's senses may be mair ready to scunner (take ⟨offence⟩) than oors. 'Deed, my leddy, we (illegible text)adna need to be particlar whiles, or it (illegible text)ad be the waur for 's!"
Simple as it was, the explanation ⟨served⟩ to restore her equanimity, ⟨disturbed⟩ by what had seemed his ⟨presumption⟩ in lying down in her presence: ⟨she⟩ saw that she had mistaken the ⟨action⟩. The fact was, that, concluding ⟨from⟩ her behavior she had something to ⟨say⟩ to him, but was not yet at leisure for (illegible text)m, he had lain down, as a loving dog ⟨might⟩, to await her time. It was ⟨devotion⟩, not coolness. To remain standing ⟨before⟩ her would have seemed a demand ⟨on⟩ her attention; to lie down was to ⟨withdraw⟩ and wait. But Florimel, ⟨although⟩ pleased, was only the more ⟨inclined⟩ to torment—a peculiarity of ⟨disposition⟩ which she inherited from her ⟨father⟩: she bowed her face once more ⟨over⟩ her book, and read through three ⟨whole⟩ stanzas, without, however, ⟨understanding⟩ a single phrase in them, before ⟨she⟩ spoke. Then looking up, and ⟨regarding⟩ for a moment the youth who lay ⟨watching⟩ her with the eyes of the ⟨servants⟩ in the psalm, she said—
"Well? What are you waiting for?"
"I thocht ye wantit me, my leddy! I ⟨beg⟩ yer pardon," answered Malcolm, ⟨springing⟩ to his feet, and turning to ⟨go⟩.
"Do you ever read?" she asked.
"Aften that," replied Malcolm, ⟨turning⟩ again, and standing stock-still. "An' I like best to read jest as yer leddyship's ⟨readin'⟩ the noo, lyin' o' the san'-hill, wi' the haill sea afore me,' an' nothing 'tween me an' the icebergs but the water an' the stars an' a wheen islands. It's like readin' wi' fower een, that?"
"And what do you read on such occasions?" carelessly drawled his persecutor.
"Whiles ae thing an' whiles anither—whiles onything I can lay my han's upo'. I like traivels an' sic like weel eneuch; an' history, gien it be na ower dry-like. I div not like sermons, an' there's mair o' them in Portlossie than onything ither. Mr. Graham—that's the schoolmaister—has a gran' library, but its maist Laitin an' Greek, an' though I like the Laitin weel, it's no what I wad read i' the face o' the sea. When ye 're in drcid o' wantin' a dictionar', that spiles a'."
"Can you read Latin, then?"
"Ay : what for no, my leddy? I can read Virgil middlin'; and Horace's Ars Poetica, the whilk Mr. Graham says is no its richt name ava, but jist Epistola ad Pisones; for gien they bude to gie 't anither, it sud ha' been Ars Dramatica. But leddies dinna care aboot sic things."
"You gentlemen give us no chance. You won't teach us."
"Noo, my leddy, dinna begin to mak' ghem o' me, like my lord. I cud ill bide it frae him, an' gien ye tak till 't as weel, I maun jist haud oot o' yer gait. I'm nae gentleman, an' hac ower muckle respeck for what becomes a gentleman to be pleased at being ca'd ane. But as for the Laitin, I'll be prood to instruck her leddyship whan ye please."
"I'm afraid I've no great wish to learn," said Florimel.
"I daur say not," said Malcolm quietly, and again addressed himself to go.
"Do you like novels?" asked the girl.
"I never saw a novelle. There's no ane amo' a' Mr. Graham's buiks, an' I s' warran' there's full twa hunner o' them. I dinna believe there's a single novelle in a' Portlossie."
"Don't be too sure: there are a good many in our library."
"I hadna the presumption, my leddy, to coont the Hoose in Portlossie.—Ye 'll hae a sicht o' buiks up there, no?"
"Have you never been in the library?"
"I never set fut i' the hoose—'cep' i' the kitchie, an' ance or twise steppin' across the ha' frae the ae door to the tither. I wad fain see what kin' o' a place great fowk like you bides in, an'
