'I prefer no to wait where I'm no
welcome,' she said in a deeply offended tone, and made to rise.

He caught her plump arm. 'Wha said ye wasna welcome? Eat yer
sweeties an' dinna talk nonsense. If ye want to see the rest o'
the picturs, I'm on. I've naething else to dae the nicht.'

After a slight pause. 'Dae ye want me to bide--Macgreegor?'

'I'm asking ye.'

She sighed. 'Ye're a queer lad. What's yer age?'

'Nineteen.'

'Same as mines!' She was twenty-two. 'When's yer birthday?'

'Third o' Mairch.'

'Same again!' She had been born on the 14th of December. 'My!
that's a strange dooble coincidence! We ought to be guid frien's,
you an' me.'

'What for no?' said Macgregor carelessly.

Once more the house was darkened. A comic film was unrolled. Now
and then Macgregor chuckled with moderate heartiness.

'Enjoyin' yersel'?' she said in a chocolate whisper, close to his
ear.

'So, so.'

'Ye're like me. I prefer the serious picturs. Real life an' true
love for me! Ha'e a sweetie? Oh, ye're smokin'. As I was sayin',
ye're a queer lad, Macgreegor.' She leaned against his arm. 'What
made ye stan' me a slider, an' a champion tea, an' they nice
sweeties, an' a best sate in a pictur hoose--when ye wasna extra
keen on ma comp'ny?'

'Dear knows.'

She drew away from him so smartly that he turned his face towards
her. 'Oh, crool!' she murmured, and put her handkerchief to her
eyes.

'Dinna dae that!' he whispered, alarmed. 'What's up?'

'Ye--ye insulted me.'

'Insulted ye! Guid kens I didna mean it. What did I say?'

'Oh, dear, I'll never get ower it.'

'Havers! I'll apologize if ye tell me what I said. Dinna greet,
for ony favour. Ye'll ha'e the folk lookin' at us. Listen,
Mary--that's yer name, is't no?'

'It's Maggie, ye impiddent thing!'

'Weel, Maggie, I apologize for whatever I said, whether I said it
or no. 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.