Miss Carnegie was of another rank and another faith, nor was she even his ideal woman, neither conspicuously spiritual nor gentle, but frank, outspoken, fearless, self-willed.

He could also see that she had been spoiled by her father and his friends, who had given her _carte blanche_ to say and do what she pleased.

Very likely--he could admit that even in the first blush of his emotion--she might be passionate and prejudiced on occasion, even a fierce hater.
This he had imagined in the Tochty woods, and was not afraid, for her imperfections seemed to him a provocation and an attraction.

They were the defects of her qualities--of her courage, candour, generosity, affection.

Carmichael leant upon a stile, and recalled the carriage of her head, the quick flash of her eye, the tap of her foot, the fascination of her manner.