The fact that Christina had not written was a paralyzing blow to
Macgregor's self-confidence and left him altogether uncertain of
his ground. For the time being his sense of guilt as well as that
of injury was almost swamped by the awful dread that she had simply
grown tired of him. He entered the shop with foreboding--and
received another blow.
A smartly dressed young man was lounging at the counter, apparently
basking in Christina's smiles. As a matter of fact, the young man
was merely choosing a notebook, and until the moment of Macgregor's
entrance had been treated with the slightly haughty politeness
which Christina made a point of administering to males under fifty.
But with amazing abruptness she became so charming that the young
man, a sensitive, susceptible creature, decided that an ordinary
penny note-book would not do.
'Well,' said Christina sweetly, 'here are some at twopence,
threepence and sixpence. The sixpenny ones are extremely reliable.'
After some desultory conversation in low tones, during which
Macgregor writhed with frequently averted gaze, the young man chose
a sixpenny one and put down a florin, regretfully remarking that he
had to catch a confounded train.
With a delicious smile Christina handed him his change, and with a
graceful salute he fled without counting it. Immediately the door
had closed Christina realized that she had given him one and
ninepence. A small matter at such a time, yet it may have been the
last straw. She had no word for Macgregor as he came to the
counter, his uncertainty increased by that delicious smile given to
another.
'Weel, ye've got back,' was all he could utter, and her attitude
stopped him in the first movement of offering his hand.
'Yesterday afternoon,' she returned coldly.
'Ay, I ken. I wish ye had sent me word,' he managed to say after a
slight pause.
'It did not seem necessary. I suppose your mother told you.'
'I heard it first frae Aunt Purdie. I missed ye by less nor an
'oor. It was gey hard lines.'
Christina stared.
'I got leave yesterday mornin' an' catched the first train to
Aberdeen----'
'Oh! . . . What on earth took you to Aberdeen?'
'Christina,' he exclaimed, 'dinna speak like that! I gaed to
Aberdeen because I couldna thole it ony mair.'
'Thole what?'
'Oh, ye ken! . . . Maybe I had nae business to be vexed at ye for
gaun wi' Aunt Purdie, but oh, Christina dear, I wisht ye hadna
gaed.'
He dropped his gaze and continued: 'I'm tellin' ye I gaed to
Aberdeen because something seemed to ha'e come betwixt us, because
I----' He stuck. Confession in the face of stern virtue is not so
easy, after all.
'Pity you had the long journey,' she said airily, 'but you ought to
have stopped for a day or two when you were there. Aberdeen is a
delightful city.' She turned and surveyed the shelves above her.
His look then would have melted the heart of any girl, except this
one who loved him.
'Christina,' he said piteously, 'it wasna a' ma fau't.'
Leisurely she faced him.
'May I ask what you are referring to?'
'Ye never said ye was sorry to leave me; yer letters wasna like ye,
an' I didna ken what to think. An' then the cocoa-nut fairly put
the lid on. I tell ye, a chap has to dae _something_ when a girl
treats him like that.'
'Has he?'