Maggie drew herself up. 'I prefer no to wait where I'm no welcome,' she said in a deeply offended tone, and made to rise.

He caught her plump arm. 'Wha said ye wasna welcome? Eat yer sweeties an' dinna talk nonsense. If ye want to see the rest o'

the picturs, I'm on. I've naething else to dae the nicht.'

After a slight pause. 'Dae ye want me to bide--Macgreegor?'

'I'm asking ye.'

She sighed. 'Ye're a queer lad. What's yer age?'

'Nineteen.'

'Same as mines!' She was twenty-two. 'When's yer birthday?'

'Third o' Mairch.'

'Same again!' She had been born on the 14th of December. 'My!

that's a strange dooble coincidence! We ought to be guid frien's, you an' me.'

'What for no?' said Macgregor carelessly.

Once more the house was darkened. A comic film was unrolled. Now and then Macgregor chuckled with moderate heartiness.

'Enjoyin' yersel'?' she said in a chocolate whisper, close to his ear.

'So, so.'

'Ye're like me. I prefer the serious picturs. Real life an' true love for me! Ha'e a sweetie? Oh, ye're smokin'. As I was sayin', ye're a queer lad, Macgreegor.' She leaned against his arm. 'What made ye stan' me a slider, an' a champion tea, an' they nice sweeties, an' a best sate in a pictur hoose--when ye wasna extra keen on ma comp'ny?'

'Dear knows.'

She drew away from him so smartly that he turned his face towards her. 'Oh, crool!' she murmured, and put her handkerchief to her eyes.

'Dinna dae that!' he whispered, alarmed. 'What's up?'

'Ye--ye insulted me.'

'Insulted ye! Guid kens I didna mean it. What did I say?'

'Oh, dear, I'll never get ower it.'

'Havers! I'll apologize if ye tell me what I said. Dinna greet, for ony favour. Ye'll ha'e the folk lookin' at us. Listen, Mary--that's yer name, is't no?'

'It's Maggie, ye impiddent thing!'

'Weel, Maggie, I apologize for whatever I said, whether I said it or no. I'm no ma usual the nicht, so ye maun try for to excuse me.

I certainly never meant for to hurt yer feelin's.'

She dropped the handkerchief. 'Ha'e ye got a sair heid?'

'Ay--something like that. So let me doon easy.'

She slid her hand under his which was overhanging the division between the seats.

'I'm sorry I was silly, but I'm that tender-hearted, I was feart ye was takin' yer fun aff me. I'm awfu' vexed ye've got a sair heid.

I suppose it's the heat. Ony objection to me callin' ye Macgreegor?'

'That's a' richt,' he replied kindly but uneasily.

Her fingers were round his, and seemingly she forgot they were there, even when the lights went up. And he hadn't the courage --shall we say?--to withdraw them.

The succeeding film depicted a throbbing love story.

'This is mair in oor line,' she remarked confidentially.

Every time the sentiment rose to a high temperature, which was pretty often, Macgregor felt a warm pressure on his fingers. He had never before had a similar experience, not even in the half-forgotten days of Jessie Mary; for Jessie Mary had not become the pursuer until he had betrayed anxiety to escape from her toils.

And he had been only seventeen then.

The warm pressure made him uncomfortable, but not physically so--and, apart from conscience, perhaps not altogether spiritually so. For, after all, it's a very sore young manly heart, indeed, that can refuse the solace, or distraction, offered in the close proximity of young womanhood of the Maggie sort and shape. In other words, Macgregor may have been conscientiously afraid, but he had no disposition to run away.

About nine-thirty they came out. While he looked a little dazed and defiant, she appeared entirely happy and self-possessed, with her hand in his arm as though he had belonged to her for quite a long time. But at the gorgeous portals she stopped short with a cry of dismay. It was raining heavily.

'I've nae umburella,' she said, piteously regarding her fine feathers. 'Ma things'll be ruined.'

'I'll get ye a cab,' he said after some hesitation induced less by consideration of the expense than by the sheer novelty of the proceeding. Ere she could respond he was gone. Not without trouble and a thorough drenching he discovered a decrepit four-wheeler.

Maggie had never been so proud as at the moment when he handed her in, awkwardly enough, but with a certain shy respectfulness which she found entirely delicious.

He gave the man the address, learned the fare, then came back to the door and handed the girl the necessary money.

'Na!' she cried in a panic, 'I'll no gang unless ye come wi' me.

I--I wud be feart to sit ma lane in the cab. Come, lad; ye've plenty time.'

He had no more than enough, but he got in after telling the man to drive as quickly as possible.

'Sit here,' she said, patting the cushion at her side.

He obeyed, and then followed a long pause while the cab rattled over the granite. She unpinned and removed her hat and leaned against him heavily yet softly.

'Ye're no sayin' a great deal,' she remarked at last. 'What girl are ye thinkin' aboot?'

'Ach, I'm dashed wearit,' he said. 'I didna sleep a wink last nicht.'

'Puir sojer laddie!' Her smooth, hot cheek touched his. 'Pit yer heid on ma shouther. . . . I like ye because ye're shy . . . but ye needna be ower shy.'

Suddenly he gave a foolish laugh and thrust his arm round her waist. She heaved a sigh of content.