'Dinna preach, or we'll no' 'gree,' said Liz almost rudely. 'Let's look
at the hats in this window. I'll hae a new one next pay. Look at that
crimson velvet wi' the black wings; it's awfu' neat, an' only
six-and-nine. D'ye no' think it wad set me?'

'Very likely. You look very nice always,' answered Gladys truthfully,
and the sincere compliment pleased Liz, though she did not say so.

'Well, look, it's ten meenits past aicht. We were to meet Teen in the
Trongate at the quarter. We'll need to turn back.'

'And where will we go after that?' inquired Gladys. 'The shops are
beginning to shut.'

'You'll see. We've a ploy on. I want to gie ye a treat. Ye dinna get
mony o' them.'

She linked her arm with friendly familiarity into that of Gladys, and
began to chatter on again, chiefly of dress, which was dear to her soul.
Her talk was not interesting to Gladys, who was singularly free from
that feminine weakness, love of fine attire. No doubt she owed this to
her upbringing, having lived always alone with her father, and knowing
very few of her own sex. But she listened patiently to Liz's minute
account of the spring clothes she had in view, and even tried to make
some suggestions on her own account.

It was with something of a relief, however, that she beheld among the
crowd at last the slight figure and pale countenance of Teen.