“Platonic?”
“Na,” he replied. “Jujubes.”
Christina bit her lip.
“D’ye no’ like them?” he asked anxiously.
The matter had got beyond her. She put out her hand and took the gift, saying: “Thank ye, Mac; they’re ma favourite sweeties. But—ye’re no’ to dae it again.”
“What kin’ o’ sweeties did ye think they was?” he asked, breaking a short silence.
“Oh, it’s o’ nae consequence,” she lightly replied. “D’ye no’ want to hear ma bit o’ news?”
“’Deed, ay, Christina.” Now more at ease, he settled himself on the chair by the counter.
“Weel,—ye’ll excuse me no’ samplin’ the jujubes the noo; it micht be awkward if a customer was comin’—weel, yer Uncle Purdie was visitin’ ma uncle last night, an’ what d’ye think I did?”
“What?”