'Ay--something like that. So let me doon easy.'
She slid her hand under his which was overhanging the division
between the seats.
'I'm sorry I was silly, but I'm that tender-hearted, I was feart ye
was takin' yer fun aff me. I'm awfu' vexed ye've got a sair heid.
I suppose it's the heat. Ony objection to me callin' ye
Macgreegor?'
'That's a' richt,' he replied kindly but uneasily.
Her fingers were round his, and seemingly she forgot they were
there, even when the lights went up. And he hadn't the courage
--shall we say?--to withdraw them.
The succeeding film depicted a throbbing love story.
'This is mair in oor line,' she remarked confidentially.
Every time the sentiment rose to a high temperature, which was
pretty often, Macgregor felt a warm pressure on his fingers. He
had never before had a similar experience, not even in the
half-forgotten days of Jessie Mary; for Jessie Mary had not become
the pursuer until he had betrayed anxiety to escape from her toils.
And he had been only seventeen then.
The warm pressure made him uncomfortable, but not physically
so--and, apart from conscience, perhaps not altogether spiritually
so. For, after all, it's a very sore young manly heart, indeed,
that can refuse the solace, or distraction, offered in the close
proximity of young womanhood of the Maggie sort and shape. In
other words, Macgregor may have been conscientiously afraid, but he
had no disposition to run away.
About nine-thirty they came out. While he looked a little dazed
and defiant, she appeared entirely happy and self-possessed, with
her hand in his arm as though he had belonged to her for quite a
long time. But at the gorgeous portals she stopped short with a
cry of dismay. It was raining heavily.
'I've nae umburella,' she said, piteously regarding her fine
feathers. 'Ma things'll be ruined.'
'I'll get ye a cab,' he said after some hesitation induced less by
consideration of the expense than by the sheer novelty of the
proceeding. Ere she could respond he was gone. Not without
trouble and a thorough drenching he discovered a decrepit
four-wheeler.
Maggie had never been so proud as at the moment when he handed her
in, awkwardly enough, but with a certain shy respectfulness which
she found entirely delicious.
He gave the man the address, learned the fare, then came back to
the door and handed the girl the necessary money.
'Na!' she cried in a panic, 'I'll no gang unless ye come wi' me.
I--I wud be feart to sit ma lane in the cab. Come, lad; ye've
plenty time.'
He had no more than enough, but he got in after telling the man to
drive as quickly as possible.
'Sit here,' she said, patting the cushion at her side.
He obeyed, and then followed a long pause while the cab rattled
over the granite. She unpinned and removed her hat and leaned
against him heavily yet softly.
'Ye're no sayin' a great deal,' she remarked at last. 'What girl
are ye thinkin' aboot?'
'Ach, I'm dashed wearit,' he said. 'I didna sleep a wink last
nicht.'
'Puir sojer laddie!' Her smooth, hot cheek touched his. 'Pit yer
heid on ma shouther. . . . I like ye because ye're shy . . . but
ye needna be ower shy.'
Suddenly he gave a foolish laugh and thrust his arm round her
waist. She heaved a sigh of content.
* * * * *
By making all haste Macgregor managed to get back to the camp in
advance of Willie. He was in bed, his eyes hard shut, when his
friend appeared in the billet.
Willie, who was unusually flushed, bent over him and, sniggering,
asked questions. Getting no response, he retired grinning and
winking at no one in particular.
Macgregor did not sleep well. If you could have listened to his
secret thoughts you would have heard, among other dreary things--
'But I didna kiss her; I didna kiss her.'