Matthew looked at her in surprise. “But what do men keep in their sporrans?” he asked. He had no idea, but he knew that his was always empty.

“Oh, this and that,” said Elspeth. She had only the haziest notion of what men did in general, and none, in particular, of what they kept in their sporrans. Indeed, as she looked at Matthew standing before the door of their new home, it occurred to her that she had done an extraordinary thing – or at least something that was extraordinary for her – that she had married a man, and that this person at her side – much as she loved him – was, in so many important ways, quite different from her. He would look upon the world through male eyes; he would think in a masculine fashion; he was something else, the other.

“You could look in my sporran if you like,” Matthew said.

She looked down at the leather pouch and very gently reached down to touch it.

She said nothing; both were somehow moved by what was happening; this sharing of a sporran was an unexpected intimacy; ridiculous, yes, but not ridiculous.

“I’ve found my key,” said Matthew, after a while. “Here.”

He slipped the key into the lock and opened the door. Inside, at Matthew’s request, and placed there by his best man a few hours before the wedding, a large bunch of flowers dominated the hall table, red and white carnations.

“Thank you for marrying me,” Matthew said suddenly. “I never thought that anybody…”

“Would marry you? But there must have been lots of girls who…”

“Who wanted to marry me?” Matthew shook his head.

She said, “I don’t believe that.”

“It’s true. Nobody. Until you came along and then we knew, didn’t we? We just knew.”

Elspeth smiled. “I suppose that’s right. I thought that I was on the shelf. I thought that I would spend the rest of my days teaching Olive and Bertie and… Tofu.” She gave an involuntary shudder: Tofu. “But you took me away from all that.”