Doubtless it was the shock of gratification as much as anything that caused him to hang back. She had actually mentioned him to her aunt!
“Will ma uncle be there?” he stammered at last.
“Na, na. Ye’ll see plenty o’ him later on!”
“Maybe yer aunt winna be pleased——”
“Come on, Mac! Ye’re ower shy for this world!” she laughed encouragingly.
They went up together.
Christina had a latch-key, and on opening the door, said:
“Oh, they haven’t come home yet. Out for a walk, I suppose. But they’ll be home in a minute. Come in. There’s a peg for your hat.”
She led the way into a fire-lit room and turned up the gas. Macgregor saw a homely, cosy parlour, something like his grandfather’s at Rothesay, but brighter generally. A round table was trimly laid for supper. In the window a small table supported a typewriter and a pile of printed and manuscript books, the sight of which gave him a sort of sinking feeling.
“Sit down,” she said, indicating an easy-chair. “Auntie and uncle won’t be long.”