She came to his drawers, opened one, and was horror-struck.

There were coats and trousers, with their limbs interchangeably
intertwined, waistcoats, shirts, and cigars, hurled into chaos.

She instantly took the drawer bodily out, brought it, leaned it against
the tea-table, pointed silently into it, with an air of majestic
reproach, and awaited the result.

"I can find whatever I want," said the unblushing bachelor, "except
money."

"Siller does na bide wi' slovens! hae ye often siccan a gale o' wind in
your drawer?"

"Every day! Speak English!"

"Aweel! How _do_ you _do?_ that's Ennglish! I daur say."

"Jolly!" cried he, with his mouth full. Christie was now folding up and
neatly arranging his clothes.

"Will you ever, ever be a painter?"

"I am a painter! I could paint the Devil pea-green!"

"Dinna speak o' yon lad, Chairles, it's no canny."

"No! I am going to paint an angel; the prettiest, cleverest girl in
Scotland, 'The Snowdrop of the North.'"