"I tell ye, ye are going entirely the wrong way to work wi’ these people, Miss Stanley," said he, as they were crossing the bridge and about to enter the village. "It’s my place to tell ye. It’s my bounden duty to tell ye. And I say they are just making sport wi’ ye. They are born beggars; work of any kind is an abomination to them; and you’ll find they’ll be like leeches—give, give always; and when you’ve ruined the estate on their behalf, what then?"
"I don’t see any such prospect—not at present," said Mary, cheerfully.
"Who is likely to know most about them, you or me?" he went on with dogged persistence. "Who has had most experience of them? Who has had dealings with them for years and years, and learned their tricks? A whining, cringing, useless set, cunning as the very mischief, and having not even an idea of what speaking the truth is. Plausible enough—oh, ay—plausible with a stranger—especially when they expect to get anything."
"Mr. Purdie," said Mary, interrupting him, "I presume from your name you belong to the south of Scotland. Well, I have been told that the Scotch—the people in the southern half of Scotland—do not understand the Highland character at all; and cannot understand it, for they have no sympathy with it. I have been told that the English have far more sympathy with the Highland nature. And I am English."
"Ay, and who told ye that about the Scotch and the Highlanders?" he said, suddenly and sharply.
"It is of little consequence," she answered him. "But I would like to add this—that denunciations of the inhabitants of a whole country-side do not seem to me of much value. I suppose human nature is pretty much the same in Lochgarra as it is elsewhere. And—and—besides, Mr. Purdie—I do not wish to hear evil spoken of a people amongst whom I have many friends."
"Evil speaking?" said he, with louring eyebrows, "I for one am not given to evil speaking—or the truth might have been told you ere now."
"The truth about one that is too much at your right hand, Miss Stanley, if I may make bold to say so." At this moment they arrived at the door of the inn; and she paused, expecting him to leave her; but he said: "No, I will go on with you as far as Lochgarra House. It is time I should open my lips at last. I have been patient. I have stood by. I have heard what has been going on—and I have held my tongue. And why?—because there are things that it is difficult to speak of to an unmarried young woman."