(It must have been leap-year.) 'Speak lower,' replied my mother, with an uneasy look at me.
'Pooh!' said James contemptuously, 'that kail-runtle!' 'I winna have him miscalled,' said my mother, frowning.
'I am done with him,' said James (wiping his cane with his cambric handkerchief), and his sword clattered deliciously (I cannot think this was accidental), which made my mother sigh.

Like the man he was, he followed up his advantage with a comparison that made me dip viciously.
'A prettier sound that,' said he, clanking his sword again, 'than the clack-clack of your young friend's shuttle.' 'Whist!' cried my mother, who had seen me dip.
'Then give me your arm,' said James, lowering his voice.
'I dare not,' answered my mother.

'He's so touchy about you.' 'Come, come,' he pressed her, 'you are certain to do it sooner or later, so why not now ?' 'Wait till he has gone for his walk,' said my mother; 'and, forbye that, I'm ower old to dance with you.' 'How old are you ?' he inquired.
'You're gey an' pert!' cried my mother.
'Are you seventy ?' 'Off and on,' she admitted.
'Pooh,' he said, 'a mere girl!' She replied instantly, 'I'm no' to be catched with chaff'; but she smiled and rose as if he had stretched out his hand and got her by the finger-tip.
After that they whispered so low (which they could do as they were now much nearer each other) that I could catch only one remark.

It came from James, and seems to show the tenor of their whisperings, for his words were, 'Easily enough, if you slip me beneath your shawl.' That is what she did, and furthermore she left the room guiltily, muttering something about redding up the drawers.

I suppose I smiled wanly to myself, or conscience must have been nibbling at my mother, for in less than five minutes she was back, carrying her accomplice openly, and she thrust him with positive viciousness into the place where my Stevenson had lost a tooth (as the writer whom he most resembled would have said).