At present Catherine Felton is in her second youth. By a process
common enough, but which at first appears contradictory, her
attractions have diminished as they developed; her waist has grown
thicker, the roses on her cheek assumed a deeper vermilion, her voice
has acquired the rough and hoarse tone of her most faithful customers;
the slender young girl is transformed into a virago. Fortunately for
her, at the commencement of the eighteenth century, and especially
in Scotland, reputations did not vanish as readily as in our days.
Notwithstanding her increasing size and coarser voice, Catherine still
remained pretty Kitty, especially in the eyes of those to whom she
gave the largest credit.
Besides, if from year to year her beauty waned, a circumstance which
might tend to diminish the attractions of her establishment, like a
prudent woman she took care that her stock of ale and usquebaugh
should also from year to year improve in quality, to preserve the
equilibrium.
Undoubtedly the visits of lairds and great noblemen at her bar were
less frequent than formerly, but all the trades-people in town, all
the sailors in port, from the Gulf of Tay to the Gulf of Forth, still
patronized the pretty landlady.
Meanwhile Catherine was not yet married. The gossips of the town were
surprised, because she was rich and suitors were plenty; they
fluttered around her constantly in great numbers, especially when
somewhat exhilarated with wine.
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