"Alan Campbell," whispered Kathryn, whose face was as pink as confectionery, "you beast!"
"In heaven´s name, don´t you realize what they´re thinking about us? And that dreadful "Daily Floodlight" will print anything. Don´t you mind at all?"
Alan considered this.
"Candidly," he startled even himself by replying, "I don´t. My only regret is that it isn´t true."
Kathryn fell back a little, putting her hand on the table which held the family Bible as though to support herself. He observed, however, that her color was deeper than ever.
"Dr Campbell! What on earth has come over you?"
"I don´t know," he was honest enough to admit. "I don´t know whether Scotland usually affects people like this - "
"I should hope not!"
"But I feel like taking down a claymore and stalking about with it. Also, I feel no end of an old rip and I´m enjoying it. Has anyone ever told you, by the way, that you are an exceedingly attractive wench?"
"Wench? You called me a wench?"
"It´s a classical seventeenth-century terminology."
I like how Alan ruffels Katheryn´s feathers. I really could use a sweet love story in my golden age mystery, I´m keeping my fingers crossed. So far it looks good.