Perhaps it was some consolation to know that she had not decided on any particular escort, and that the rivals were at war with one another. While there is strife there is hope.
“Ay; ye’ll ha’e plenty offers,” he managed to say steadily, and felt rather pleased with himself.
“I’m seriously thinking o’ wearin’ pink,” she told him as they turned into the main street. “It’s maybe a wee thing common, but I’ve been told it suits me.”
Macgregor wondered who had told her, and stifling his jealousy, observed that pink was a bonny colour.... “But—but ye wud look fine in ony auld thing.” Truly he was beginning to get on.
So, at least, Jessie Mary seemed to think. “Nane o’ yer flattery!” she said with a coquettish laugh.
“I wud like fine to see ye at the dance,” he said with a sigh.
“Come—an’ I’ll gi’e ye a couple o’ dances—three, if I can spare them.” Hitherto Jessie Mary had regarded Macgregor as a mere boy, and sometimes as a bit of a nuisance, but she was the sort of young woman who cannot have too many strings to her bow. “I can get ye a ticket,” she added encouragingly.
For an instant it occurred to Macgregor to ask her to let him take her to the dance—he would find the money somehow—but the idea died in its birth. He could not both go to the dance and do that which he had already promised himself to do. Besides, she might laugh at him and refuse.
“It’s nae use speakin’ aboot the dance,” he said regretfully. Then abruptly: “Yer birthday’s on Tuesday week, is’t no’?”
Jessie Mary looked at him. His eyes were on the pavement. “Wha tell’t ye that?”