“Yer brither Rubbert was never what I wud ca’ a female fancier. Of course that wasna his fau’t; he was jist as the Lord made him, and he’s turned oot a vera successful man, an’ for a’ we ken his wife Sarah’s maybe better nor she’s bonny. But yer son Macgreegor――――” “Macgreegor wud never look at the lassies. He’s ower shy.” “Whiles it’s the kind that doesna look that leaps the furdest. But there’s waur things in the world nor razors and lassies,” said John, with a feeble laugh, “an’ I jist wanted to warn ye no’ to ask questions, even though ye should see Macgreegor weerin’ his Sunday tie every nicht in the week! I hope ye’re no’ offended, Lizzie.” But it is to be feared that Lizzie was offended just then. She had not been the better half for eighteen years without knowing it; she had grown to expect her easy-going husband’s cheerful acquiescence in practically all she did, and to regard her acceptance of his most mild remonstrances as a sort of favour. And now he was actually giving her advice concerning her treatment of her firstborn! It was too much for her pride. She set her mouth in a hard line, threw up her head, and proceeded with her polishing. John waited for a couple of minutes, then sighed and took up his evening paper. * * * * * Meanwhile Macgregor was having his troubles. He contrived to dodge Willie Thomson, who nowadays seemed always to be where he was not wanted, but the operation involved a _detour_ of nearly a quarter of a mile, in the course of which he was held up by another youth of his acquaintance. Ten minutes were wasted in listening with ill-concealed impatience to fatuous observations on the recent play of certain professional footballers, and then he continued his journey only to fall, metaphorically speaking, into the arms of Jessie Mary emerging from a shop. “Hullo, Mac! I thought ye was deid!” was her blithe greeting, the “sausage roll” phrase having at long last served its day. “Ye’re in a hurry,” she added, “but so am I, so ye can walk back to the corner wi’ me.” Macgregor mumbled something to the effect that he was in no special hurry, and, possibly in order to give a touch of truth to his falsehood, turned and accompanied her. “Ye’ve no’ been gi’ein’ the girls a treat lately,” she remarked. “I ha’ena noticed ye floatin’ aroun’. Ha’e ye been keepin’ the hoose at nicht?” “Whiles,” he replied, and enquired with some haste, “Hoo did ye enjoy the dance last week, Jessie?” “Oh, dinna mention it!” she cried, with a toss of her head. “I didna gang to it.” “Ye didna gang to the dance!” “If I had went, it wud ha’e meant bloodshed,” she impressively informed him. “Ye see, there was twa chaps implorin’ me to gang wi’ them, an’ they got that fierce aboot it that I seen it wudna ha’e been safe to gang wi’ either. A riot in a ballroom is no’ a nice thing. An’ if I had went wi’ a third party, it wud ha’e been as much as _his_ life was worth. So I jist bided at hame.”