That was the lure of Vivien. She was so still, like the waters of Loch Earn on the quiet autumn days or in the hush of the early morning when the dawn was waking upon its breast.
"It is not a day for you to be out in. We are going to have a great storm. At Creagh, Diarmid predicts the drift of the year. You must be more careful of yourself."
"Oh, but I love it!" she cried, her eyes lighting up. "There is something ethereal in it all. I should like to walk on and on in it to the limit of the world. Have you been at the house, and is there nobody at home?"
"I asked only for you," he made answer, greatly daring.
But still the clear paleness of her face had no touch of flame upon it.
"I had Drummond to lunch. Perhaps you met him? He went down the Glen in front of me. I didn't ride with him, because I couldn't pit my sorry old hack against his fine bit of horse-flesh."
"He does have lovely horses, and he loves them--and don't they know it!" said Vivien musingly. "Even a horse thrives best in an atmosphere of appreciation and of kindly care."
"And that's a true word, Mrs. Payne. May I tell you about Drummond and what was his business with me to-day? It was a bit of family business, but I hope you will do me the honour to be interested in it."
"Surely, if you care to tell me I shall be interested," she answered without a moment's hesitation.
"You know, of course, that he has just come back from Nice?"