Macgregor was stretched on his bed, a newspaper over his face, when
an orderly shook him and shoved a visiting card into his hand.
'She's waitin' ootside,' he said and, with a laugh, departed.
Macgregor rubbed his eyes and read:
MRS. ROBERT PURDIE.
13, _King's Mansions, W_ _3rd Wednesday._
'Oh, criffens!' he groaned. 'Ma aunt!' And proceeded with more
haste than alacrity to tidy himself, while wondering what on earth
she had come for.
Willie, scenting profit in a rich relation, though not his own,
proffered his company, which was rather curtly refused.
Nevertheless, he followed his friend.
Macgregor joined his aunt in the blazing sunshine. Her greeting
was kindly if patronizing.
'Sorry to keep ye waitin', Aunt Purdie,' he said respectfully. 'If
I had kent ye was comin'----'
'I understood a good soldier was always prepared for any
emergency----'
'Excep' when he's aff duty, mistress.' This from Willie, who had
taken up his position a little way behind Macgregor, an
ingratiating grin on his countenance.
Aunt Purdie drew up her tall, gaunt, richly-clad figure and
examined Private Thomson through eye-glasses on a long
tortoise-shell handle.
'Macgregor, who is this gentleman?'
'It's jist Wullie Thomson,' said Macgregor, annoyed but reluctant
to hurt his friend's feelings. 'D'ye no mind him?'
'I have a very exclusive memory for faces. . . Dear me, he is
going away!'
It was so.
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