She had gone too far――she saw it in his face. “I didna think ye was as bad as that,” he said in a curiously hard voice, and turned from the counter. Quick anger――quick compunction――quick fear――and then: “Mac!” He wheeled at the door. She was holding out her hand. Her smile was frail. “Are ye in earnest?” he said in a low voice, but he did not wait for her answer. She drew away her hand, gently. “Dinna ask me ony questions,” she pleaded. “I――I didna really mean what I said that night, or this night either. I think I was off my onion”――a faint laugh――“but I’m sorry I behaved the way I did. Is that enough?” It was more than enough; how much more he could not say. “I’ve missed ye terrible,” he murmured. Christina became her practical self. “So ye’re for tryin’ yer uncle’s business――――” she began. “If he’ll gi’e me the chance.” “Weel, I’m sure I wish ye the best o’ luck.” “Then ye think I ought to try?” This with great eagerness. “If ye’ve made up yer mind it’s for the best,” she answered cautiously. He had to be satisfied with that. “Will I let ye ken if it comes off?” She nodded. Then she glanced at her watch. “Can――can I get walkin’ hame wi’ ye, Christina?” It was out before he knew. She shook her head. “Uncle said he wud come for me; he had some business up this way. If ye wait a minute, ye’ll see him. I’ll introduce ye. He’ll be interested seein’ ye’re a nephew o’ Mr. Purdie.” “Oh, I couldna. I best hook it. But, Christina, I can come to-morrow, eh?” She laughed. “I canna prevent ye. But I’ll no’ be here in the afternoon. Uncle’s takin’ auntie an’ me to a matinée, an’ I’ll no’ be back much afore six.” “Weel, I’ll meet ye at eight an’ walk hame wi’ ye.” “Will ye?” “Oh, Christina; say ’ay.’” “I’ll consider it.” And he had to be satisfied with that, too, for at this point the noisy door opened to admit a tall, clean-shaven, pleasant-featured man of middle-age. “Hullo, uncle!” cried Christina. Macgregor fled, but not without gaining a quick smile that made all the difference in the world to him. Ten minutes later he hurried into the home kitchen. “Mither, I’ve decided to leave the pentin’.” The moment he said it his heart misgave him, and the colour flew to his face. But he need not have doubted his parents. “Weel, ma son,” said John soberly, “we’ll dae the best we can wi’ yer Aunt Purdie.” “Jist that,” said Lizzie. And that was all. * * * * * An urgent piece of work had to be done the following afternoon, and he was later than usual, for a Saturday, in getting home. He found his mother preparing to go out, and his father looking strangely perplexed. “She’s gaun to see yer Aunt Purdie,” said John in a whisper. Macgregor looked from one to the other, hesitated, and went over to Lizzie. He put his hand on her arm. “Mither, ye’re no’ to gang. I――I’ll gang masel’.” Then, indeed, Lizzie Robinson perceived that her boy was in danger of becoming a man. CHAPTER FOURTEEN