Out of Context

Weir of Hermiston
Robert Louis Stevenson

“Miss Christina, if you please, Mr. Weir,” she interrupted.  “I canna bear the contraction.”

“You forget it has a friendly sound for me.  Your aunt is an old friend of mine, and a very good one.  I hope we shall see much of you at Hermiston?”

“My aunt and my sister-in-law doesna agree very well.  Not that I have much ado with it.  But still when I’m stopping in the house, if I was to be visiting my aunt, it would not look considerate-like.”

“I am sorry,” said Archie.

“I thank you kindly, Mr. Weir,” she said.  “I whiles think myself it’s a great peety.”

“Ah, I am sure your voice would always be for peace!” he cried.

“I wouldna be too sure of that,” she said.  “I have my days like other folk, I suppose.”

“Do you know, in our old kirk, among our good old grey dames, you made an effect like sunshine.”

“Ah, but that would be my Glasgow clothes!”

“I did not think I was so much under the influence of pretty frocks.”

She smiled with a half look at him.  “There’s more than you!” she said.  “But you see I’m only Cinderella.  I’ll have to put all these things by in my trunk; next Sunday I’ll be as grey as the rest.  They’re Glasgow clothes, you see, and it would never do to make a practice of it.  It would seem terrible conspicuous.”

By that they were come to the place where their ways severed.  The old grey moors were all about them; in the midst a few sheep wandered; and they could see on the one hand the straggling caravan scaling the braes in front of them for Cauldstaneslap, and on the other, the contingent from Hermiston bending off and beginning to disappear by detachments into the policy gate.  It was in these circumstances that they turned to say farewell, and deliberately exchanged a glance as they shook hands.  All passed as it should, genteelly; and in Christina’s mind, as she mounted the first steep ascent for Cauldstaneslap, a gratifying sense of triumph prevailed over the recollection of minor lapses and mistakes.  She had kilted her gown, as she did usually at that rugged pass; but when she spied Archie still standing and gazing after her, the skirts came down again as if by enchantment.  Here was a piece of nicety for that upland parish, where the matrons marched with their coats kilted in the rain, and the lasses walked barefoot to kirk through the dust of summer, and went bravely down by the burn-side, and sat on stones to make a public toilet before entering!  It was perhaps an air wafted from Glasgow; or perhaps it marked a stage of that dizziness of gratified vanity, in which the instinctive act passed unperceived.  He was looking after!  She unloaded her bosom of a prodigious sigh that was all pleasure, and betook herself to run.  When she had overtaken the stragglers of her family, she caught up the niece whom she had so recently repulsed, and kissed and slapped her, and drove her away again, and ran after her with pretty cries and laughter.  Perhaps she thought the laird might still be looking!  But it chanced the little scene came under the view of eyes less favourable; for she overtook Mrs. Hob marching with Clem and Dand.

“You’re shürely fey, lass!” quoth Dandie.

“Think shame to yersel’, miss!” said the strident Mrs. Hob.  “Is this the gait to guide yersel’ on the way hame frae kirk?  You’re shiirely no sponsible the day!  And anyway I would mind my guid claes.”