‘Has he?’

He winced.  ‘But I forgive ye——­’

‘Thanks!’

‘—­because I’m gaun to tell ye a’ aboot it, Christina, an’ ask ye kindly to forgive me.  Ay, I’m gaun to tell ye everything—­everything!  But I canna think,’ he blundered on, ’I’m sayin’, I canna think hoo I happened to get yer monkey up to begin wi’——­’

‘Excuse me!’ she cried, indignant.  ‘My monkey up, indeed!’

’Weel, maybe it wasna exac’ly yer monkey up; but I want to ken what way ye didna write a nicer letter afore ye gaed awa’.  Nae doobt ye was in a hurry, but it jist seemed as if ye didna care a button for me.  Maybe ma letter to you wasna the thing, either, but I was that hurt when I wrote it, an’ ye might ha’e understood hoo I was feelin’.  Christina, tell me what was wrang that ye gaed awa’ like yon.  Was ye—­was ye fed up wi’ me?’

Christina took up a pencil and began to spoil it with a patent sharpener.  ‘Really, it is not worth while discussing,’ she said.

’What?  No worth while?  Oh, hoo can ye say a thing like that! . . .  But maybe I best tell ye ma ain story first.’

’Many thanks.  But I’m afraid I’m not deeply interested in any story of yours.’  She was almost sorry the next moment.  It was just as if she had struck him.

Presently he recovered a little.  ‘Christina,’ he said quietly, ‘that’s no true.’

‘Hoo daur ye!’ she cried, forgetting her ‘fine English’ as well as her haughty pose.

‘If it was true, it wud mean that ye’ve been judgin’ me unfair, kennin’ it was unfair, an’ I’ll never believe ye wud dae that. . . .  So, Christina dear, listen to me an’ gi’e me a chance.’

‘Oh, what’s the use,’ she sighed with sudden weariness, ’what’s the use o’ pretendin’, Macgreegor?’

‘Wha’s pretendin’?’

‘You!  What’s the use o’ pretendin’ ye’re hurt?  Fine ye ken I’m no the—­the only girl in the world.’

‘There’s no anither like ye!’

‘Weel,’ she said drily, ‘that means variety, does it no?’ She drew a long breath and moved back from the counter.  ’I want to be as fair as I can, so perhaps I’d best ask ye a straight question.’

‘Ask it!’ he said eagerly.

‘Wha’s Maggie?’

He was taken aback, but less so than she had expected, and possibly that increased her bitterness.

‘She’s a girl,’ he began.

‘I could ha’e guessed that much.  What sort o’ girl?’ she demanded, and wished she had held her tongue.

‘She—­she’s kin’ o’ fat——­’

‘Fat!’ Christina uttered the word with as much disgust as she would have evinced had she been handed a pound of streaky bacon without the paper.  ’How delightful!  Anything else in the way of charms?’

‘Christina, gi’e me a chance, an’ I’ll tell ye a’ aboot it.’

’Not another word!  How long have you enjoyed the young lady’s acquaintance?’

‘Only a couple o’ evenin’s, but——­’