Then she clenched her hands and set her teeth. Then
she went lax again. Then--oh, dear! he had even insulted her by
leaving her to pick up the cast-off ring!--for, of course, she
could not leave it there for Miss Tod or a customer to see.
Haughtily she moved round the counter and with scornful finger-tips
took up the tiny wreckage of a great hope. The gold was twisted
and bruised, the little pearls were loose in their places. All at
once she felt a horrid pain in her throat. . . .
Miss Tod appeared, fresh from the joys of strong tea.
'Oh, lassie, ha'e ye hurted yersel'?'
Christina choked, recovered herself and cried: 'I've sold a
blighter a sixpenny notebook for threepence, an' I'll never get
over it as long as I live. B--but I hope that'll no be long!'
Just then Heaven sent a customer.
* * * * *
And perhaps Heaven sent the telegram that Macgregor found on his
return home, rather late in the afternoon. The war has changed
many things and people, but mothers most of all. Mrs. Robinson
made no mention of the 'extra special' dinner prepared so vainly in
her son's honour. 'Yer fayther missed ye,' was her only reference
to his absence from the meal.
The telegram was an order to return to duty. The mother and sister
saw his eyes change, his shoulders stiffen.
'Maybe something's gaun to happen at last,' he said; and almost in
the same breath, though in a different voice--'Christina's finished
wi' me.
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