'The change will be good for her. You must not be selfish. Your uncle was afraid you might be put out: that is why I came to explain. But apart from the beneficial change, Christina, as I observed to your uncle, ought to see the world while she is young.'
Macgregor answered nothing. Possibly he did not catch her latter remarks. Christina going away for a fortnight, and he might be ordered abroad at any moment!
'Come,' said his aunt, kindly enough, 'don't be huffy.'
Mercifully, just then an officer passed. In the action of saluting
Macgregor regained self-control.
'I hope ye get guid weather at Aberdeen,' he managed to say, and his aunt admired him even more than at the hour of his enlistment.
'Yer uncle an' me jist wishes ye was free to jine us,' she said with unwonted warmth and homeliness of accent. Her hand went to the fastening of her purse, and hesitated. No! Something told her this was not the moment for a gift, however splendid.
'Well, I must be going,' she remarked, stiffening again. 'Kindly conduct me to the exit. I thought there would have been more to inspire the mind in this place. . . . Good-bye. We will take good care of Christina.'
* * * * *
Never in his life had Macgregor been so deeply hurt and angered—not even in the old days by Aunt Purdie, who was not now the object of his resentment.
Willie, who always tried to make the best of things, insults not excepted, approached presently with a hopeful appeal for a loan.