she must sit alone, and think of
herself as of a maid who had most unmaidenly proffered her affections
and had the same rejected. And in the meanwhile I would be alone some
other place, and reading myself (whenever I was tempted to be angry)
lessons upon human frailty and female delicacy. And altogether I suppose
there were never two poor fools made themselves more unhappy in a
greater misconception.

As for James, he paid not so much heed to us, or to anything in nature
but his pocket, and his belly, and his own prating talk. Before twelve
hours were gone he had raised a small loan of me; before thirty, he had
asked for a second and been refused. Money and refusal he took with the
same kind of high good-nature. Indeed, he had an outside air of
magnanimity that was very well fitted to impose upon a daughter; and the
light in which he was constantly presented in his talk, and the man's
fine presence and great ways went together pretty harmoniously. So that
a man that had no business with him, and either very little penetration
or a furious deal of prejudice, might almost have been taken in. To me,
after my first two interviews, he was as plain as print; I saw him to be
perfectly selfish, with a perfect innocency in the same; and I would
harken to his swaggering talk (of arms, and "an old soldier," and "a
poor Highland gentleman," and "the strength of my country and my
friends") as I might to the babbling of a parrot.

The odd thing was that I fancy he believed some part of it himself, or
did at times; I think he was so false all through that he scarce knew
when he was lying; and for one thing, his moments of dejection must have
been wholly genuine. There were times when he would be the most silent,
affectionate, clinging creature possible, holding Catriona's hand like a
big baby, and begging of me not to leave if I had any love to him; of
which, indeed, I had none, but all the more to his daughter. He would
press and indeed beseech us to entertain him with our talk, a thing very
difficult in the state of our relations; and again break forth in
pitiable regrets for his own land and friends, or into Gaelic singing.

"This is one of the melancholy airs of my native land," he would say.
"You may think it strange to see a soldier weep, and indeed it is to
make a near friend of you," says he. "But the notes of this singing are
in my blood, and the words come out of my heart. And when I mind upon my
red mountains and the wild