“Get oot o’ this!” she cried. “D’ye hear me! Get oot——”
“Ay, I hear ye,” said Willie resentfully, rubbing his cheek. “Ye’re ower smart wi’ yer han’s. I meant for to say——”
“Be quiet!”
“—you’re the girl Macgreegor’s mashed on—an’ I——”
Christina stamped her foot. “Clear oot, I tell ye!”
“—I wudna be Macgreegor for a thoosan’ pounds! Keep yer hair on, miss. I’ll gang when it suits me. Ye’ve got to hear——”
“I’ll no’ listen.” She put her hands to her ears.
“Thon girl, Jessie Mary, took a rise oot o’ ye last week, an’ it was me that put her up to it. Macgreegor gi’ed her the belt, richt enough, but that was afore he got saft on you——”
“Silence! I cannot hear a word you say,” declared Christina, recovering herself and her more formal speech, though her colour, which had faded, now bloomed again.
“I’ll cry it loud, if ye like, so as the folk in the street can hear. But ye can pretend ye dinna hear,” he said ironically. “I’m no’ heedin’ whether ye hear or no’.”