I'm no ma usual the nicht, so ye maun try for to excuse me.
I certainly never meant for to hurt yer feelin's.'
She dropped the handkerchief. 'Ha'e ye got a sair heid?'
'Ay--something like that. So let me doon easy.'
She slid her hand under his which was overhanging the division
between the seats.
'I'm sorry I was silly, but I'm that tender-hearted, I was feart ye
was takin' yer fun aff me. I'm awfu' vexed ye've got a sair heid.
I suppose it's the heat. Ony objection to me callin' ye
Macgreegor?'
'That's a' richt,' he replied kindly but uneasily.
Her fingers were round his, and seemingly she forgot they were
there, even when the lights went up. And he hadn't the courage
--shall we say?--to withdraw them.
The succeeding film depicted a throbbing love story.
'This is mair in oor line,' she remarked confidentially.
Every time the sentiment rose to a high temperature, which was
pretty often, Macgregor felt a warm pressure on his fingers. He
had never before had a similar experience, not even in the
half-forgotten days of Jessie Mary; for Jessie Mary had not become
the pursuer until he had betrayed anxiety to escape from her toils.
And he had been only seventeen then.
The warm pressure made him uncomfortable, but not physically
so--and, apart from conscience, perhaps not altogether spiritually
so. For, after all, it's a very sore young manly heart, indeed,
that can refuse the solace, or distraction, offered in the close
proximity of young womanhood of the Maggie sort and shape.
Pages:
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84