'Excep' when he's aff duty, mistress.' This from Willie, who had taken up his position a little way behind Macgregor, an ingratiating grin on his countenance.
Aunt Purdie drew up her tall, gaunt, richly-clad figure and examined Private Thomson through eye-glasses on a long tortoise-shell handle.
'Macgregor, who is this gentleman?'
'It's jist Wullie Thomson,' said Macgregor, annoyed but reluctant to hurt his friend's feelings. 'D'ye no mind him?'
'I have a very exclusive memory for faces. . . Dear me, he is going away!'
It was so. Either the glasses, or being called a gentleman, or both, had been too much even for Willie.
'Is the colonel in the vicinity?' Aunt Purdie demanded, recalling
Macgregor's wondering gaze from the retreating figure.
'I couldna say. He's liker to be in a cauld bath.'
'You have, of course, informed him who your uncle is?'
'Me an' the colonel ha'ena done much hob-nobbin' as yet,' Macgregor said, smiling.