He struggled against a curious feeling of mental suffocation, and said: “I was in here on Tuesday nicht. I――I didna see ye.” “I attend a shorthand class on Tuesday nights.” “Oh!” He wanted very much to make her smile, so he said: “When I didna see ye on Tuesday, I was afraid ye had got the sack.” Christina drew herself up. “What can I do for you to-day, Mr. Robinson?” she enquired with stiff politeness. “I was jist jokin’,” he cried, dismayed; “I didna mean to offend ye.” Christina’s fingers played a soundless tune on the edge of the counter; her eyes gazed over his head into space. She waited with an air of weary patience. “I was wantin’ a pen――a penholder,” he said at last, in a hopeless tone of voice. “Ha’penny or penny?” she asked without moving. “A penny yin, please,” he said humbly. She turned and twitched a card from its nail, and laid it before him. “Kindly take your choice,” she said, and moved up the counter a yard or so. She picked up a novelette and opened it. Macgregor examined and fingered the penholders for nearly a minute by the clock ere he glanced at her. She appeared to be engrossed in the novelette, but he was sure he had hurt her feelings. “I was jist jokin’,” he muttered. “Oh, you wanted a ha’penny one.” She twitched down another card of penholders, laid it before him as if――so it seemed to him――he had been dirt, and went back to her novelette. Had he been less in love he would surely have been angry then. Had she seen his look she would certainly have been sorry. There was a long silence while his gaze wandered, while he wondered what he could do to make amends. And lo! the ugly inkpot caught his eye. He read the accompanying card several times; he fingered the money in his pocket; he told himself insistently that ninepence was not worth considering. Once more he glanced at the girl. She was frowning slightly over the page. Perhaps she wanted him to go. “I’ll buy that, if ye like,” he said, pointing at the inkpot. “Eh?” cried Christina, and dropped the novelette. “Beg your pardon,” she went on, recovering her dignity and moving leisurely towards him, “but I did not quite catch what you observed.” She was pleased that she had used the word “observed.” “I’ll buy that,” repeated Macgregor. “What’s it for?” “It’s for keeping ink in. It’s an inkpot. The price is ninepence.” “I can read,” said Macgregor, with perhaps his first essay in irony. Christina tilted her chin. “I presume you want it for a gift,” she said haughtily. “Na; I’m gaun to pay for it.” “I meant to give away as a gift.” It was rather a stupid sentence, she felt. If she had only remembered to use the word “bestow.” The boy’s clear eyes met hers for a second. “It holds a great deal of ink,” she said, possibly in reply to her conscience. “I’ll buy a bottle o’ ink, too, if ye like,” he said recklessly, and looked at her again.