If the subject was dress, he might then become a little irritating.
"Oh, they're grand," Jess admitted; "they set a body aff oncommon." "They would be no use to you," said Hendry, "for ye canna wear them except ootside." "A body doesna buy cloaks to be wearin' at them steady," retorted Jess.
"No, no, but you could never wear yours though ye had ane." "I dinna want ane.

They're far ower grand for the like o' me." "They're no nae sic thing.

Am thinkin' ye're juist as fit to wear an eleven and a bit as My Hobart." "Weel, mebbe I am, but it's oot o' the queistion gettin' ane, they're sic a price." "Ay, an' though we had the siller, it would surely be an awfu' like thing to buy a cloak 'at ye could never wear ?" "Ou, but I dinna want ane." Jess spoke so mournfully that Hendry became enraged.
"It's most michty," he said, "'at ye would gang an' set yer heart on sic a completely useless thing." "I hinna set my heart on't." "Dinna blether.

Ye've been speakin' aboot thae eleven and a bits to Leeby, aff an' on, for twa month." Then Hendry hobbled off to his loom, and Jess gave me a look which meant that men are trying at the best, once you are tied to them.
The cloaks continued to turn up in conversation, and Hendry poured scorn upon Jess's weakness, telling her she would be better employed mending his trousers than brooding over an eleven and a bit that would have to spend its life in a drawer.

An outsider would have thought that Hendry was positively cruel to Jess.