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Updated: May 4, 2025
To Andrew, and to Andrew's family, and to the whole village of Pittendurie, the marriage of Andrew Binnie and Sophy Traill was a fact beyond disputing.
Therefore, why blame Greek Street and those who live there? The county council are to blame that they do not cleanse the place with light. Bad or good, though whatever it may be it is part of Soho; the refuge of Bohemianism to which district Traill brought Sally Bishop on that Thursday evening.
"What good would it do you?" Sally wondered what Miss Hallard would say if she were to hear this. She wondered what she would have said herself, had the expression of such ideas come from Mr. Arthur. There was no doubt that she would have repudiated them with vehement denial. With Traill she said nothing felt that he was right. Why was that? She could not tell.
Durlacher rode as a swallow rides on an upland wind pinions stretched straightly out the consummate absence of effort; all the training of numberless years and numberless birds of the air in its wings. "Dolly this is Miss Bishop my sister, Mrs. Durlacher." Traill stamped through the ceremony, like a man through a ploughed field.
The couple of lamps that the yard provided, lit up their skin sickly yellow and the surrounding houses flung shadows in confusion. "They'll have a job to hit straight," said Traill, tensely. His eyes were riveted before him. He did not look at her, did not see her white, drawn face.
Durlacher's car in sight until it passed through the wide portals of a restaurant in the Strand where, from the street, she could see them dismount and pass into the building. They had gone to supper. Traill had told her nothing about that. Then it had only been decided since he had met them; he must be enjoying himself in the society of these very people whose society he professed to abhor.
This was a strange sentiment from the work-broken old man who, for himself, would have held ornamental idleness sinful. He finished his supper in brooding silence. At last he broke out in a peevish irritation that only made his grief at parting with Bobby more apparent to an understanding man like Mr. Traill. "I dinna ken what to do wi' 'im i' an Edinburgh lodgin' the nicht.
"The dog maun hae left the kirkyaird. Thae terriers are aye barkin'. It'd be maist michty noo, gin he'd be so lang i' the kirkyaird, an' no' mak' a blatterin'." As a man of superior knowledge Mr. Traill found pleasure in upsetting this theory. "The Highland breed are no' like ordinar' terriers.
Among the rest of the doubtful characters with which our court abounded was one Joe Traill, who had been in prison many a time for petty larceny and the like. He was one of those who stink in the nostrils of cleanly, civilised society, and who are its shame and secret sore. There was no place for Joe in this great world of ours.
Traill blushed. "Weel, I'll admit to you that I'm fair fulish about Bobby. Man, I've courted that sma' terrier for eight and a half years. He's as polite and friendly as the deil, but he'll have naething to do with me or with onybody. I wonder the intelligent bit doesn't bite me for the ill turn I did his master."
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