"Duke," she said feebly as she looked round. And as she did so, the distant Calton Hill blocking the blue slopes of Arthur's Seat, the wonderful blending of town and country which makes Edinburgh seem an epitome of human life, was lost to her eyes; she only saw his face, insouciant, smiling, yet full of affection. The douce commonsensical world in which she had resolved to live was gone; she was among the stars again, in a different existence, herself a different being. Yet even as she realised this she realised that she was alone. He had not found his wings to follow her.
Yet he was prompt; without pause he hailed a passing cab, put her into it unresisting, gave the order Pentland Hotel, and as he seated himself beside her reached out a hand with glad delight in the clasp of its warm fingers to find her own.
"Where are we going, Duke?" she asked, with a sort of sob in her effort to keep herself to normal.
"To have lunch, my dear!" he replied joyously. "You look as if you wanted it. And we haven't much time to spare, for the train starts for Glasgow at 2.30 and we must go by it, for my leave is up and I have to get back to Ayr by to-morrow. I'm in command of the detachment there."
The certitude of his words roused instant resentment.
"I must ask you to excuse me," she said peremptorily. "Will you stop the cab, Captain Muir?"
"But, my dear," he replied, quite pathetically, "I must speak to you somehow, and this is my only chance. Do come, Marmie, at any rate, to lunch."
The simplicity of his plea disarmed her again, and the hotel being reached at that moment she allowed him to take her on his arm up the steps after the fashion of the day. But once in the private sitting-room, which, with lunch for two as quick as possible, he had commanded in a lordly voice as he entered, his manner changed again.
"Take off that veil and bonnet, will you, please," he said abruptly. "I want to see what that brute has dared to do."
Marrion looked at him startled.