'Come,' said his aunt, kindly enough, 'don't be huffy.'

Mercifully, just then an officer passed. In the action of saluting
Macgregor regained self-control.

'I hope ye get guid weather at Aberdeen,' he managed to say, and
his aunt admired him even more than at the hour of his enlistment.

'Yer uncle an' me jist wishes ye was free to jine us,' she said
with unwonted warmth and homeliness of accent. Her hand went to
the fastening of her purse, and hesitated. No! Something told her
this was not the moment for a gift, however splendid.

'Well, I must be going,' she remarked, stiffening again. 'Kindly
conduct me to the exit. I thought there would have been more to
inspire the mind in this place. . . . Good-bye. We will take good
care of Christina.'

* * * * *

Never in his life had Macgregor been so deeply hurt and
angered--not even in the old days by Aunt Purdie, who was not now
the object of his resentment.

Willie, who always tried to make the best of things, insults not
excepted, approached presently with a hopeful appeal for a loan.

'Gang to blazes!' was the response.