Macgregor joined in his father's guffaw, but stopped short, loyalty revolting. Aunt Purdie had meant it kindly.
'Tits, John!' said Lizzie, 'ye got on fine excep' when ye let yer wine jeelly drap on the carpet.'
'Oho, so there was wine in 't! I fancied it was inebriated-like. But the mistak' I made was in tryin' to kep it when it was descendin'. A duke wud jist ha'e let it gang as if a wine jeelly was naething to him. But, d'ye ken, wife, I was unco uneasy when I discovered the bulk o' it on ma shoe efter we had withdrew to the drawin' room——'
'Haud yer tongue, man! Macgreegor, what nicht 'll suit ye?'
'If ye say a nicht, I'll try for it; but I canna be sure o' gettin' a late pass.' He was less uncertain when making appointments with Christina.
And Mr. Robinson once more blundered and caused his son to blush by saying: 'He wud rayther spend the evenin' wi' his intended—eh, Macgreegor?'
'But she's to be invited!' Lizzie cried triumphantly. 'So there ye are!'
'Ah, but that's no the same,' John persisted, 'as meetin' her quiet-like. When I was courtin' you, Lizzie, did ye no prefer——'
Lizzie ignored her man—the only way. 'What aboot Friday, next week?'
'If we're no in Flanders afore then,' reluctantly replied the soldier of seven weeks' standing.