"I make no rash promises, Mr. Maclean."
"Well, if ye won't, ye won't. But I'm thinkin' I'd work the better at the Latin if I could count on ye."
"Studying Latin, are you, Mr. Maclean?" The surprise of Miss Sanderson was rather respectful.
"Mr. Lonie is learnin' me," said the young man, with a slight touch of vainglory. "And I'm thinkin' he'll verra soon be learnin' me the Greek."
"Are you going to college?"
"Maybe ay. Maybe no. You never can tell where a pairson may get to. Anyhow I'm learnin' to speak the language. Ae day I'll be as gude at the Saxon as you and your sister have become, Miss Sanderrson."
It was hard not to smile, yet she knew her countrymen too well to treat such a matter lightly.
"And I've a'ready set aboot writin' for the papers."
"Begun already to write for the papers, have you, Mr. Maclean?" This was not a young man to smile at. "Well, wherever you may get to," Miss Sanderson's tone was softer than any she had yet used, "I am sure I wish you well."
"Thank ye," said the young man dryly. "But why not gie a pairson a helping hand?"
"I am not sure that I like you well enough." Such candor was extorted by the seriousness with which she was now having to treat him. "You see, Mr. Maclean, it is all so sudden. We have only met once before."
"May I hope, Miss Sanderrson?"
Suddenly he moved his chair towards her and took her hand.
"Mr. Maclean, you may not." The hand was withdrawn firmly.
