g?"

"He approves of it," said I. "He approved that I should ask your hand in
marriage," and was going on again with somewhat more of an appeal upon
her feelings; but she marked me not, and struck into the midst.

"He told you to!" she cried. "It is no sense denying it, you said
yourself that there was nothing farther from your thoughts. He told you
to."

"He spoke of it the first, if that is what you mean," I began.

She was walking ever the faster, and looking fair in front of her; but
at this she made a little noise in her head, and I thought she would
have run.

"Without which," I went on, "after what you said last Friday, I would
never have been so troublesome as make the offer. But when he as good as
asked me, what was I to do?"

She stopped and turned round upon me.

"Well, it is refused at all events," she cried, "and there will be an
end of that."

And she began to walk forward.

"I suppose I could expect no better," said I, "but I think you might try
to be a little kind to me for the last end of it. I see not why you
should be harsh. I have loved you very well, Catriona--no harm that I
should call you so for the last time. I have done the best that I could
manage, I am trying the same still, and only vexed that I can do no
better. It is a strange thing to me that you can take any pleasure to be
hard to me."

"I am not thinking of you," she said, "I am thinking of that man, my
father."

"Well, and that way, too!" said I. "I can be of use to you that way,
too; I will have to be. It is very needful, my dear, that we should
consult about your father; for the way this talk has gone, an angry man
will be James More."

She stopped again. "It is because I am disgraced?" she asked.

"That is what he is thinking," I replied, "but I have told you already
to make nought of it."

"It will be all one to me," she cried. "I prefer to be disgraced!"

I did not know very well what to answer, and stood silent.

There seemed to be something working in her bosom after that last cry;
presently she broke out, "And what is the meaning of all this? Why is
all this shame loundered on my head? How could you dare it, David
Balfour?"

"My dear," said I, "what else was I to do?"

"I am not your dear," she said, "and I defy you to be calling me these
words."

"I am not thinking of my words," said I. "My heart bleeds for you, Miss
Drummond. Whatever I may say, be sure you have my pity in your difficult
position. Bu