"The Highlands were not merry?" she asked.
"I had no heart for them."
"No?" she said. "I am sorry."
"I should rather, were it mine to choose, that you were glad to have me find them dull," he answered.
"Would that be quite friendly?" she inquired, with a smile of intentional misunderstanding.
"I am scarce asking for friendship," he returned, and there was no mistaking the intent of either word or eye.
"By the way," he continued, "I have ridden half over Scotland and laid by four horses to be here this afternoon; for which," he added, with the little outward wave of his hand which became him so well, "I am claiming no merit; for is there a man who knows you who would have done otherwise?"
A look passed between them, a look which I was at a complete loss to understand, as she answered, with a laugh:
"I think Mr. Pitcairn might successfully have struggled with the temptation of laming horses to see me."
"But," the duke retorted, "as you told me yourself on that memorable night we first met, 'Pitcairn's not rightly a man; he's just a head.'"