'He had nae business to
write as if I was a selfish thing; as if I had nae right to decide
for masel'!' As a matter of fact, her sole reason for accepting
Mrs. Purdie's invitation had been a fear of offending Macgregor's
important relatives by a refusal. Heaven knew she had not wanted
to put 150 miles between her lad and herself at such a time.
Still, as Macgregor might have known by now, it was always a
mistake to try to hustle Christina in any way. Her reply
condescended neither to explanations nor defence. Written in her
superior, and rather high-flown English, which she was well aware
he detested, it practically ignored his epistle and took the form
of an essay on the delights of travel, the charm of residence in
the Northern City, the kindliness and generosity of host and
hostess. She was not without compunction, especially when Uncle
Purdie expressed the hope that she was sending the lad something to
'keep up his pecker,' but she let the letter go, telling herself
that it would be 'good for him.'
The postcard was received by Macgregor after an uneasy night and a
shameful awakening. The meagre message made him more miserable
than angry. In the circumstances it was, he felt bound to admit,
as much as he deserved. Mercifully, Willie had such a 'rotten
head' that he was unable to plague his unhappy friend, and the day
turned out to be a particularly busy one for the battalion. Next
morning brought the letter.
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