'Jist for fun. I want to see her face when she sees me again.'

'Weel, I'll no prevent ye. So long.' At that moment the girl was held up at a busy crossing.

'Hullo, Maggie!' said Willie pertly.

'I'm off,' said Macgregor--but his arm was gripped.

The girl turned. 'Hullo,' she said coolly; 'still livin'?'

Catching sight of Macgregor, she giggled. It was not an unpleasing giggle. Lean girls cannot produce it.

'This is Private Macgreegor Robi'son,' said Willie, unabashed.

She smiled and held out her hand. After a moment she said to Willie: 'Are ye no gaun to tell him ma name, stupid?'

'I forget it, except the Maggie.'

'Aweel,' she said good-humouredly, 'Private Robi'son'll jist ha'e to content hissel' wi' that, though it's a terrible common name.'

She did the giggle again.

The chance of crossing came, and they all moved over; on the crowded pavement it was impossible to proceed three abreast.

'Never mind me,' said Willie humorously.

'Wha's mindin' you?' she retorted.

'Gettin' hame?' said Macgregor with an effort at politeness, while fuming inwardly.

'Jist that. Awfu' warm weather, is't no? It was fair meltin' in the warehoose the day. I'm fair dished up.' She heaved a sigh, which was no more unpleasing than her giggle. 'It's killin'

weather for you sojer lads,' she added kindly.

Macgregor experienced a wavelet of sympathy. 'Wud ye like a slider?' he asked abruptly.

'Ye're awfu' kind. I could dae wi' it fine.'

Presently the three were seated in an ice-cream saloon. The conversation was supplied mainly by the girl and Willie, and took the form of a wordy sparring match. Every time she scored a point the girl glanced at Macgregor. He became mildly amused by her repartee, and at last took a cautious look at her.

She was certainly stout, but not with a clumsy stoutness; in fact, her figure was rather attractive. She had dark brown hair, long lashed, soft, dark eyes, a provocative, mobile mouth, and a nice pinky-tan colouring. At the same time, she was too frankly forward and consistently impudent for Macgregor's taste; and he noticed that her hands were not pretty like Christina's.

She caught his eye, and he smiled back, but absently. He was wondering what Christina was doing and how she would take his letter in the morning. . . . He consulted his watch. A long, empty evening lay before him. How on earth was he to fill it? He wanted distraction, and already his companions' chaff was getting tiresome.

On the spur of the moment--'What aboot a pictur hoose?' he said.

'That's the cheese!' cried Willie.

But Maggie shook her head and sighed, and explained that her mother was expecting her home for tea, and sighed again.

'Ha'e yer tea wi' us,' said the hospitable Macgregor.

She glanced at him under lowered lashes, her colour rising. 'My!

ye're awfu' kind,' she said softly. 'I wish to goodness I could.'

'Scoot hame an' tell yer mither, an' we'll wait for ye here,' said stage-manager William.

'I wudna trust _you_ . . . but I think I could trust _him_.'

'Oh, we'll wait sure enough,' Macgregor said indifferently.

'I'll risk it!' she cried, and straightway departed.

Willie grinned at his friend. 'What dae ye think o' fat Maggie?'

he said.

'Naething,' answered Mac, and refused to be drawn into further conversation.

Within half an hour she was back, flushed and bright of eye. She had on a pink print, crisp and fresh, a flowery hat, gloves carefully mended, neat shoes and transparent stockings.

'By Jings, ye're dressed to kill at a thoosan' yairds!' Willie observed.

Ignoring him, she looked anxiously for the other's approval.

'D'ye like hot pies?' he inquired, rising and stretching himself.

An hour later, in the picture house a heartrending, soul thrilling melodrama was at its last gasp. The long suffering heroine was in the arms of the long misjudged, misfortune-ridden, but ever faithful hero.

'Oh, lovely!' murmured Maggie.

Macgregor said nothing, but his eyes were moist. He may, or may not, have been conscious of a plump, warm, thinly-clad shoulder close against his arm.

Hero and heroine vanished. The lights went up. Macgregor blew his nose, then looked past the fat girl to make a scoffing remark to Willie.

But Willie's seat was vacant.

Maggie laid her ungloved hand on the adjoining seat. 'It's warm,'

she informed Macgregor. 'He canna be lang awa'.'

'Did he no say he was comin' back?' Macgregor asked rather irritably.

'He never said a word to me. I didna notice him gang: I was that ta'en up wi' the picturs. But never heed,' she went on cheerfully; 'it's a guid riddance o' bad rubbish. I wonder what's next on the prog----

'But this'll no dae! He--he's your frien'.'

'Him! Excuse me for seemin' to smile. I can tell ye I was surprised to see a dacent-like chap like you sae chummy wi' sic a bad character as him.'

'Aw, Wullie Thomson's no near as bad as his character. A' the same, he had nae business to slope wi'oot lettin' us ken. But he'll likely be comin' back. We'll wait for five meenutes an' see.'