She looked round the shop to discover if aught required her attention; then being satisfied that nought could be improved, she seated herself on the stool and prepared to do a little book-keeping.
As she dipped her pen, however, the door of the shop was slowly opened, the bell above it banged, and a young man—so she reckoned him—came in. In her quick way, though she had never seen him before, she put him down in her mind as a purchaser of a half-penny football paper. But having recovered from the alarm of the bell and carefully shut the door, he hesitated, surveying his surroundings.
Christina flung back her thick plait of fair hair, slipped from the stool, and came to attention.
“Nice day,” she remarked in her best manner. She contrived to get away from the vernacular in her business dealings.
“Ay,” The young man smiled absently.
“Nice teeth,” thought Christina. (That Macgregor’s teeth were good was entirely due to his mother’s firmness in the matter of brushing them during his younger days. He was inclined to be proud of them now.)
“Just take a look round,” she said aloud.
Macgregor acknowledged the invitation with a nod.
“Was it anything special you wanted to see?” she enquired.
Macgregor regarded her for a moment. “I had a look at yer window,” he said, his eyes wandering once more, “but I seen naething dearer nor a shillin’.”