'Where is man's God-given companion--where is the wife, sir?'
'I have no wife,' said Herries, sternly, most bitterly resenting the allusion to his private matters--yet, somehow, held by the overpowering personality of his interlocutor.
'What?' cried Burns. 'Then where is the lass that you loved--for you did love her--the big, bonny body wi' the bunch o' curls? Well I mind her, though she liked me little!'
'If you speak of Miss Graham,' said Herries, his lips hardly able to form the name, 'I have never seen her or heard of her since the night I took her from your house.'
'Man alive!' ejaculated the poet, staring at his guest in blank astonishment. 'Is it possible? That there was a mischief brewing through some trickery of that sour devil, Nicol, I knew--fu' though I was, and roarin' fu' that night. But, as I live, I never thought but that you and the lass would kiss and make it up or ever you got the length of Princes Street!'
'Was I to take a sweetheart from your chamber?' said Herries, with a sneer.
'But, surely,' cried Burns, 'surely you knew the lass was there against her will? She had come on some cantrip of my Clarinda--well, I must e'en be plain, your cousin, Mrs. Maclehose; we had some trifle of dalliance in those days, and your girl was Cupid's messenger--just once too often, it would seem.'
'But she as good as told me with her own lips,' said Herries, 'that the disgrace of her situation was her own, and that she had deceived me....'
'Then she lied!' said Burns, energetically, 'and lied to save her friend, who was indeed most particularly in terror that your honour's self should scent her little game.... Listen, sir. I was never one to tell when I had kissed, but I must e'en out with it now. Here's a grave matter that needs more clearing even than I thought--and your own relative's honour is surely as safe with you as with me. The little lady thrives, I hear, on the fairest pinnacle of good fame, and you would be the last to interrupt her prosperity. But in those merry days she had a kindly eye for a poor Bard--and troth, so had the Bard for her--and we had--well, sundry tender passages and letters, though all within the strictest limits of Platonic friendship. And then there was your bonny lass--may God forgive us for the use we put her innocence to!--forever the go-between. Yet, sir, before real harm was done, I had compounded with my conscience to break with my Clarinda once and forever. Then came your ... Do you remember your letter?'