'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?'