“For ony sake dinna speak like that.”
“I forgot ye wasna a customer. But, seriously, I dinna think it wud be the thing.”
“What way, Christina?”
“Jist because, an’ for several other reasons besides. My! it’s gettin’ dark. Time I was lightin’ up.” She struck a match, applied it to a long taper, and proceeded to ignite the jets in the window and above the counter. Then she turned to him again.
“Mac.”
Something in her voice roused him out of his despair. “What, Christina?”
“If ye walk hame wi’ me, I’ll expect ye to come up an’ see ma aunt an’ uncle. Ye see, I made a sort o’ bargain wi’ them that I wudna ha’e ony frien’s that they didna ken aboot.”
Macgregor’s expression of happiness gave place to one of doubt. “Maybe they wudna like me,” he said.
“Aweel, that’s your risk, of course. But they’ll no’ bite ye. I leave the shop at eight.” She glanced at her little silver watch. “Mercy! It’s time I was puttin’ on the kettle. Miss Tod’ll be back in a jiffy. Ye best gang, Mac.”
“I’ll be waitin’ for ye at eight,” he said, rising. “An’ it’s awfu’ guid o’ ye, Christina, though I wish ye hadna made that bargain——”