Lord Cramer had followed him into the hall, and when Dr. Macrae perceived this some innate, in-born sense of courtesy due the stranger within his gate caused him to return at once to his study. In two or three minutes Cramer followed. He had Marion's hand in his, and Mrs. Caird was but a few steps behind. She entered the room with them, and Dr. Macrae looked at her not very pleasantly.
"I did not call you, Jessy," he said.
"I am aware of that fact, Ian," she answered. "I called myself."
"We are not requiring your presence."
"I was never more needed. What for are you wanting Marion?"
"You can stay and hear, if you wish."
Then Dr. Macrae took the chair at his desk, and Marion and Lord Cramer stood before him. Their hands were still clasped, and unconsciously Marion leaned slightly toward her lover. The transfiguration of love suffused her face, and she stood smiling in all its glory. Dr. Macrae was struck afresh by a beauty he had hitherto regarded too little. He saw in her at this hour the noblest type of Celtic loveliness—its winning face, splendid form, rich coloring, all vivified by a well-cultivated intellect, and made charming and winsome by childlike confidence and simplicity. For a moment his heart swelled with pride as the sense of his fatherhood flashed over him.
"Marion," he said not unkindly, "Marion, Lord Cramer tells me you are willing to go to India with him. I cannot believe it."
"I have promised Richard to be his wife, so then, wherever he dwells, there my home will be. Is not that right, Father?"
"Yes, under proper conditions. But a promise made out of law and time is no promise. The law of your native land forbids you to make that promise, without my consent, until you are twenty-one years old."