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Out of kirk, in the kirkyard, he gave them good day. He studied to keep strangeness out of his manner; an onlooker would note only a somewhat silent, preoccupied laird. He might be pondering the sermon. Mr. M'Nab's sermons were calculated to arouse alarm and concern or, in the case of the justified, stern triumph in the human breast.
"There's one to be liked no little!" said Strickland. But Mr. M'Nab's answering tone was wintry yet. "He makes mair songs than he listens to sermons! Jarvis Barrow, that's a strong witness, should have had another sort of great-nephew! And so he that will be laird comes home to-morrow? It's little that he has been at home of late years." "Yes, little."
What say ye, sir?" he added, directly appealing to me; "shall we allow M'Nab's folk the credit o' havin' given a language to the world more universal than the English tongue?"
I thought of Whistler's "Cremorne Gardens" and his "Valparaiso," for this was such a night effect as he could have painted, and so I thought of The M'Nab's saying, "The night is the night if the men were the men." someone, a Neish perhaps, may see the connection of ideas here, I admit it is slight.
What is that thing you do with a broom??" "The rose." "Take a good deal of cultivating to produce. I should think? Are you going to the M'Nab's ball?" "No; I am not asked. The others are." "But you do go to balls sometimes?" "Oh, yes; Mrs. Rolleston promised I should; but I can't go without an invitation, and I very seldom get one."
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