"I am rather glad to have a word alone with you," says he, "because
in our first interview there were some expressions you
misapprehended and I have long meant to set you right upon. My
daughter stands beyond doubt. So do you, and I would make that
good with my sword against all gainsayers. But, my dear David,
this world is a censorious place--as who should know it better than
myself, who have lived ever since the days of my late departed
father, God sain him! in a perfect spate of calumnies? We have to
face to that; you and me have to consider of that; we have to
consider of that." And he wagged his head like a minister in a
pulpit.
"To what effect, Mr. Drummond?" said I. "I would be obliged to you
if you would approach your point."
"Ay, ay," said he, laughing, "like your character, indeed! and what
I most admire in it. But the point, my worthy fellow, is sometimes
in a kittle bit." He filled a glass of wine. "Though between you
and me, that are such fast friends, it need not bother us long.
The point, I need scarcely tell you, is my daughter. And the first
thing is that I have no thought in my mind of blaming you.
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