'

'Maybe,' Macgregor suggested, 'she didna like to tell ye the truth.'

Christina smiled gently, saying, 'Ye've a lot to learn aboot us
females, Mac.'

'By Jings, ye're richt there!' Willie exploded, and immediately
subsided in confusion.

'Ay,' she agreed placidly; 'he's no a connoisseur like you, Wullie.
Talkin' o' females, hoo's yer aunt keepin'?'

'Rotten--at least she was fine the last time I seen her ugly.'

'The decay seems to ha'e been rapid. But, seriously, it's a peety
ye canna love yer aunt better----'

Love her! Oh, help!' The 'p' was sounded just in time, and Willie
glanced at Macgregor to see whether he had noticed the stumble.

Macgregor, however, had forgotten Willie--unless, perhaps to wish
him a hundred miles away. Christina was wearing a new white blouse
which showed a little bit of her neck, with a bow of her favourite
scarlet at the opening.

'D'ye ken what ma aunt done to me the ither day?' Willie proceeded,
craving for sympathy. 'I was terrible hard up, an' I wrote her a
nice letter on a caird wi' a view o' Glesca Cathedral on it,
includin' the graveyaird--cost me a penny; an' what dae ye think
she sent me back? A bl--oomin' trac'!'

At that moment the kettle boiled, and Christina, exclaiming 'Oh,
mercy!' sprang to the hearth. Over her shoulder she said in a
voice that wavered slightly:

'That was hard cheese, Wullie, but ye maun send her a cheerier-like
caird next time. I'll stand ye an optimistic specimen afore ye
leave the shop.'

'Thenk ye! A--of course we'll ha'e to draw the line at picturs o'
folk dookin' in the sad sea waves or canoodlin' on the shore----'

Christina, teapot in one hand, kettle in the other, burst out
laughing.

'Mind ye dinna burn yersel'!' cried Macgregor, starting into life.

'Haud the kettle, Mac,' said she. 'It's no fair o' Wullie to be
sae funny.'

'I wasna funny!' Willie protested.

'It's yer notion o' the optimistic that tickled me,' she said.
'Pour, Mac; I'm steady noo. But ye're quite richt, Wullie. We
canna be ower discreet when cash is involved. I'll get some
high-class cairds for ye to inspect till the tea's infused.'

Macgregor would dearly have liked to follow her into the shop.

'She's a clinker,' observed Willie under his breath.

'Eh?'

'Naething.'

Which was all the conversation during the absence of the hostess.

She returned with a tray. Willie was tempted by a card with the
'V.C.' emblazoned on it, but fear