"Mhor--you're talking too much," said David, who was jotting down
figures in a notebook.

"It's to be hoped," said Jean to Mrs. M'Cosh, "that the honourable lady
will suit Bella Bathgate, for Bella, honest woman, won't put herself
about to suit anybody. But she's been a good neighbour to us. I always
feel so safe with her near; she's equal to anything from a burst pipe to
a broken arm.... I do hope that landlord of ours in London will never
take it into his head to come back and live in Priorsford. If we had to
leave The Rigs and Bella Bathgate I simply don't know what we'd do."

"We could easy get a hoose wi' mair conveniences" Mrs. M'Cosh reminded
her. She had laid down the tray again and stood with her hands on her
hips and her head on one side, deeply interested "Thae wee new villas in
the Langhope Road are a fair treat, wi' a pantry aff the dining-room an'
hot and cold everywhere."

"_Villas_," said Jean--"hateful new villas! What are conveniences
compared to old thick walls and queer windows and little funny stairs?
Besides, The Rigs has a soul."

"Oh, mercy!" said Mrs. M'Cosh, picking up the tray and moving at last to
the door, "that's fair heathenish!"

Jean laughed as the door shut on their retainer, and perched herself on
the end of the big old-fashioned sofa drawn up at one side of the fire.
She wore a loose stockinette brown dress and looked rather like a wood
elf of sorts with her golden-brown hair and eyes.