“Can I no’ gang wi’ ye?” he asked, with a great effort.
“Oh, ye can come as far as Macrorie’s,” she answered graciously, mentioning a provision shop.
Young love is ever grateful for microscopic mercies, and Macgregor’s spirit took courage as he fell into step with her. Jessie Mary was a handsomely built young woman; her shoulder was quite on a level with his. There were times when he would fain have been taller; times, also, when he would fain have been older, for Jessie Mary’s years exceeded his own by two. Nevertheless, he was now thinking of her age without reference to his own. He was, in fact, about to speak of it, when Jessie Mary said:
“I’m to get to the United Ironmongers’ dance on Friday week, after a’. When fayther was at his tea the nicht, he said I could gang.”
She might as well have poured a jug of ice water over him. “Aw, did he?” he murmured feebly.
“Ye should come, Macgreegor,” she continued. “Only three-an’-six for a ticket admittin’ lady an’ gent.”
“Och, I’m no’ heedin’ aboot dancin’,” said Macgregor, knowing full well that his going was out of the question.
“It’ll be a splendid dance. They’ll keep it up till three,” she informed him.
With his heart in his mouth he enquired who was taking her to the dance.
“Oh, I ha’ena decided yet.” She gave her head a becoming little toss. “I’ve several offers. I’ll let them quarrel in the meantime.”