Macgregor mumbled something to the effect that he was in no special hurry, and, possibly in order to give a touch of truth to his falsehood, turned and accompanied her.
“Ye’ve no’ been gi’ein’ the girls a treat lately,” she remarked. “I ha’ena noticed ye floatin’ aroun’. Ha’e ye been keepin’ the hoose at nicht?”
“Whiles,” he replied, and enquired with some haste, “Hoo did ye enjoy the dance last week, Jessie?”
“Oh, dinna mention it!” she cried, with a toss of her head. “I didna gang to it.”
“Ye didna gang to the dance!”
“If I had went, it wud ha’e meant bloodshed,” she impressively informed him. “Ye see, there was twa chaps implorin’ me to gang wi’ them, an’ they got that fierce aboot it that I seen it wudna ha’e been safe to gang wi’ either. A riot in a ballroom is no’ a nice thing. An’ if I had went wi’ a third party, it wud ha’e been as much as his life was worth. So I jist bided at hame.”
Macgregor began, but was not allowed to complete, a sympathetic remark.
“Oh, I was glad I didna gang. The dance turned oot to be a second-rate affair entirely—no’ half-a-dizzen shirt fronts in the comp’ny. An’ I believe there wasna three o’ the men could dance for nuts, an’ the refreshments was rotten.”
They had now reached the appointed corner.
“Jist as weel ye didna gang, then,” absently said Macgregor, halting.