“Weel, I suppose it’s nane o’ ma business,” she said good-humouredly. “But, bein’ a frien’, I thought ye wud ha’e been pleased to hear ma news.” Ere he could reply a woman came in to purchase note-paper. Possibly Christina’s service was a trifle less “finished” than usual; and she made no attempt to sell anything that was not wanted. Macgregor had a few minutes for reflection, and when the customer had gone he said, a shade more hopefully: “Ye’ll no’ be kep’ as late at the office as here. Ye’ll ha’e yer evenin’s free, Christina.” “I’ll ha’e mair time for classes. I’m keen on learnin’ French an’ German. I ken a bit o’ French already; a frien’ o’ ma uncle’s, a Frenchman, has been gi’ein’ me lessons in conversation every Sunday night for a while back. It’ll be useful if I become a secretary.” “Strikes me,” said Macgregor, gloomily, “ye’ve never ony time for fun.” “Fun?” “For walkin’ aboot an’――an’ that.” “Oh, ye mean oot there.” She swung her hand in the direction of the street. “I walk here in the mornin’――near a mile――an’ hame at night; an’ I’ve two hours free in the middle o’ the day――uncle bargained for that when he let me come to Miss Tod. As for loafin’ aboot on the street, I had plenty o’ the street when I was young, afore ma aunt took me to bide wi’ her at Kilmabeg. The street was aboot the only place I had then, an’ I suppose I wud be there yet if ma aunt hadna saved me. D’ye ken, Mac,” she went on almost passionately, “it’s no’ five years since I wanted a decent pair o’ shoes an’ a guid square meal.... Oh, I could tell ye things――but anither time, maybe. As for spendin’ a’ yer spare time on the street, when ye’ve ony other place to spend it, it’s――weel, I suppose it’s a matter o’ taste; but if I can dae onything wi’ ma spare time that’ll mak’ me independent later on, I’m gaun to dae it. That’s flat!” Suddenly she laughed. “Are ye afraid o’ me, Mac?” “No’ likely!” he replied, with rather feeble indignation. “But whiles ye’re awfu’――queer.” At that she laughed again. “But I’m no’ so badly off for fun, as ye call it, either,” she resumed presently. “Noo an’ then uncle tak’s auntie an’ me to the theatre. Every holiday we gang to the coast. An’ there’s always folk comin’ to the hoose――――” “Auld folk?” “Frae your age upwards. An’ next year, when I put up ma hair, I’ll be gettin’ to dances. Can ye waltz?” Macgregor gave his head a dismal shake. “I――I doobt ye’re ower high-class,” he muttered hopelessly. “Ye’ll no’ be for lookin’ at me next year.” “No’ if ye wear a face like a fiddle. I like to look at cheery things. What’s up wi’ ye?” “Oh, naething. I suppose ye expec’ to be terrible rich some day.” “That’s the idea.” “What’ll ye dae wi’ the money? I suppose ye dinna ken.” “Oh, I ken fine,” she returned, with an eager smile. “I’ll buy auntie a lovely cottage at the coast, an’ uncle a splendid motor car, an’ masel’ a big white steam yacht.” “Ye’re no’ greedy,” he remarked a little sulkily.