He took it, and before she knew, it was on her finger again.
'Ye've jist got to keep it!' he said, desperately. 'An' Christina,
I—I'm gaun to kiss ye!'
'Oh, mercy!'
But he had none. . . .
'Are we engaged or no?' he whispered at last.
'Let me get ma breath.'
'Hurry up!'
She laughed, though her eyes were wet. 'Oh, dear,' she murmured,
'I never thought I wud get engaged wi'oot a—a . . .'
'A what?'
Suddenly she leaned forward and touched his cheek. 'Dinna fash yersel', Mac. Bein' in war-time, I suppose the best o' us has got to dae wi'oot some luxury or ither—sich as a proper High-Class Proposal.'