‘Mind ye dinna burn yersel’!’ cried Macgregor, starting into life.

‘Haud the kettle, Mac,’ said she.  ‘It’s no fair o’ Wullie to be sae funny.’

‘I wasna funny!’ Willie protested.

‘It’s yer notion o’ the optimistic that tickled me,’ she said.  ’Pour, Mac; I’m steady noo.  But ye’re quite richt, Wullie.  We canna be ower discreet when cash is involved.  I’ll get some high-class cairds for ye to inspect till the tea’s infused.’

Macgregor would dearly have liked to follow her into the shop.

‘She’s a clinker,’ observed Willie under his breath.

‘Eh?’

‘Naething.’

Which was all the conversation during the absence of the hostess.

She returned with a tray.  Willie was tempted by a card with the ‘V.C.’ emblazoned on it, but feared it would look ‘swanky’ on his part.  Though hampered by the adverse criticisms of Macgregor, who naturally wanted to hold Christina’s hand under cover of the table as long as possible, he succeeded at last in choosing one entitled ‘The Soldier’s Return,’ depicting a bronzed youth running to embrace an old lady awaiting him in a cottage porch.

‘If that doesna touch the spot,’ said Christina, ‘I’m a duchess.’

They sat down to tea.

Much to Willie’s relief, Christina apparently forgot all about a blessing.  Anxious to please, he expressed admiration at the abundance of good things.

‘I like to see a table groanin’,’ said the hospitable hostess.

‘There’ll be mair nor the table groanin’ afore lang,’ observed Macgregor.

They all laughed like happy people, especially Willie, until with a start he remembered the cream cookies and his omission to bring an extra hanky.  All the same, he proceeded to enjoy himself pretty heartily, and did the agreeable to the best of his ability, furnishing sundry anecdotes of camp life which were as new to Macgregor as they probably were to himself.  At last—­

‘Try a cream cookie,’ said Christina.

But he could not face it.  ‘Cream,’ he said mournfully, ’doesna agree wi’ me.  The last time I had cream—­ma aunt had got it in for her cat that had the staggers—­I lay in agony for three days an’ three nichts an’ several ’oors into the bargain.  Ma aunt feared I was gaun to croak ma last.’

Macgregor made a choking sound, while Christina gravely hoped that the cat had also recovered, and passed the macaroons.

‘Thenk ye,’ said Willie, and readily resumed operations.  But he was not a little disgusted to note presently that Christina and Macgregor enjoyed their cream cookies without the slightest mishap.

His geniality was not fully restored until, at the end of the meal, Christina laid a box of superior cigarettes between her two guests.

‘May I drap deid in five meenutes,’ he declared, ’if ever I was treated like this afore!  Macgreegor, ye’re jist a damp lucky deevil!’