"Of course, I haven't," she exclaimed indignantly. "I've heard of
it--_often_. But I have never heard of love without any sight at all."
"Love is blind," said McTavish.
"Now, who's quibbling?"
"Just because," he said, "you've never heard of a thing, away off here
in your wild Highlands, is a mighty poor proof that it doesn't exist. I
suppose you don't believe in predestination. I've always known," he said
grandly, "that I should marry my cousin--even against her will and
better judgment. You don't more than half believe me, do you?"
"Well, not more than half," Miss MacNish smiled.
"It's the truth," he said; "I will bet you ten pounds it's the truth."
Miss MacNish looked at him indignantly, and in the midst of the look she
sighed. "I don't bet," said she.
McTavish lowered his glance until it rested upon his own highly polished
brown boots.
"Why are you looking at your boots?" asked Miss MacNish.
"Because," he said simply, "considering that I am in love with my
cousin, I don't think I ought to look at you any more. I'm afraid I got
the habit by looking at your sister; but then, as she has a husband, it
couldn't matter so much."
Miss MacNish, I'm afraid, mantled with pleasure. "My sister said
something in her letter about your wishing to see the house of your
ancestors. Miss McTavish is out now--would you like to look about
a little?"
"Dearly," said McTavish.