There was a short silence ere Christina spoke. “If you are bent on getting the belt made tight-fitting, a jeweller would do it for you, but it would cost as much as the belt is worth,” she said coldly. “It’s a very cheap imitation, you know,” she added, for the first time in her business career decrying her own wares.
It was certainly a nasty one, but the young woman almost succeeded in appearing to ignore it.
“So ye canna change it—even to please ma young man?” she said mockingly.
“No,” Christina replied, keeping her face to the foe, but with difficulty.
Said the foe: “That’s a pity, but I daresay I’ll get over it.” She moved to the door and opened it. She smiled, showing her teeth. (Christina was glad to see they were not quite perfect.) “A sma’ waist like mines is whiles a misfortune,” she remarked, with affected self-commiseration.
Christina set her lips, but the retort would come. “Ay,” she said viciously; “still, I suppose you couldn’t grow tall any other way.”
But the young woman only laughed—she could afford to laugh, having done that which she had come to do—and departed to report the result of her mission to the youth known as Willie Thomson.
“Wha was that, dearie?” M. Tod called from the living-room.
Christina started from an unlovely reverie. “Merely a female,” she answered bitterly, and resumed counting the periodicals in a listless fashion.
The poison bit deep. The cheek of him to suggest walking home with her when he was going to a dance with that tight-laced girl next week! No doubt he admired her skimpy waist. He was welcome to it and her—and her bad teeth. And yet he had seemed a nice chap. She had liked him for his shyness, if for nothing else. But the shy kind were always the worst. He had very likely been taking advantage of his shyness. Well, she was glad she had found him out before he could walk home with her. And possibly because she was glad, but probably because she was quite young at heart, tears came to her eyes....