“Courtin’,” said John, laughing.
“Havers!” she retorted. “He’s no’ the sort.”
“Neither was I,” said John, “an’ look at me noo!”
And there they let the subject drop.
* * * * *
At seven o’clock Macgregor left the house. At the nearest post-office he had his order converted into coin. In one of his pockets he placed a couple of shillings—for Jeannie and Jimsie. He had no definite plans regarding the balance, but he hoped his mother would not ask for it. Somehow its possession rendered the prospect of his meeting with the Baldwins a thought less fearsome. He would tell Christina of his grandfather’s gift, and later on, perhaps, he would buy—he knew not what. All at once he wished he had a great deal of money—wished he were clever—wished he could talk like Christina, even in the manner he hated—wished vague but beautiful things. The secret aspirations of lad’s love must surely make the angels smile—very tenderly.
He reached the trysting place with a quick heart, a moist brow, and five and twenty minutes to spare.