“When d’ye think ye’ll ha’e some nice ceegarettes?”
Christina’s eyes smiled. “Perhaps,” she said solemnly, “by the time you’re big enough to smoke them. Anything else to-day?”
“Ye’re no’ sae green,” he said, with grudging admiration.
“No,” said she; “it’s only the reflection.” She opened the glass case and took out an infant’s rattle. “Threepence!”
Willie laughed. “My! ye’re a comic!” he exclaimed.
“Children are easily amused.”
There was a short pause. Then Willie, leaning his arms on the edge of the counter, looked up in her face and said:
“So you’re the girl that’s mashed on Macgreegor Robi’son.” He grinned.
A breath of silence—a sounding smack.
Willie sprang back, his hand to his cheek. Christina, cheeks flaming, eyes glistening, teeth gleaming, hands clenched, drew herself up and faced him.