'I regret I cannot accept your kind invitation.'
'Haw, haw! It's you for the language! But I say!' He leaned over the counter. 'What way are ye no greetin'?'
She flushed hotly, wondering how much he knew or guessed, but replied coolly enough: 'I have nothing to weep about. Have you?'
'Plenty, by Jings! I expected to see yer eyes an' nose rid, onyway, Christina.'
'Indeed! Is that how it affects you?'
He looked hard at her. 'My! ye're a game yin!' he said admiringly.
'Weel, I maun slope,' he went on, with a sigh that sounded absurd,
coming from him. 'I suppose ye've nae message for
Macgreegor—something ye forgot to say at the last meenute? Eh?'
Christina was at a loss. Apparently he knew nothing, yet his manner was odd.
'No message, thank you,' said she slowly.
'Then I'll bid ye guid-bye—an' I could bet ye a bob ye'll never see me again. So I'll tell ye something.' His words came with a rush. 'Ye're aboot the nicest girl I ever kent, Christina. Macgreegor's a luckier deevil nor he deserves. But I'll look efter him for ye in Flanders. Trust me for that. Noo that we're really boun' for the Front, in a day or so, things is different—at least I'm feelin' different. Dinna laugh! I—I dinna want to ha'e ony enemies but the Germans. I've jist been an' kissed ma aunt—dammit! An' noo'—he caught her hand, pulled her to him—'I'm gaun to kiss you! There!' He turned and bolted.
Christina's hand went to her cheek, and fell back to her side. Her colour ebbed as swiftly as it had flowed. She began to shake. 'Bound for the Front, in a day or so.' . . .