His boyish face broke into mischief; he came towards her with hands outstretched, frank, absolutely devoid of all save pure affection.
In a way, it cut her to the heart as she acquiesced.
The ride to Glasgow, first-class, with all the alacrity of guards and porters consequent on Marmaduke's lordly ways and tips, was rather an agreeable novelty; so also was the obsequiousness of the hotel where he left her, saying he would be round to see her ere he started for Ayr next morning.
Before he came, however, a rather well-known doctor arrived somewhat to her annoyance, the more so because his verdict was startling. A sharp attack of pneumonia, which mercifully had not killed her, had left both lungs enfeebled. At least six weeks' complete rest, care, and good food, and, if possible, sea air would be necessary to make them normal; but given these desiderata perfect recovery was assured.
Six weeks! Marrion, despite her full purse, was aghast, and Marmaduke, coming in with his usual breezy vitality, found her depressed. He was in uniform, and it was the first time she had seen him so, with all the accessories, as it were, of his young manhood about him, from the glitter of his plaid brooch to the pipe-clay on his white gaiters, for Andrew Fraser would have scorned to have aught astray in his master's kit.
"I have had rather bad news," she began dolefully; but he checked her with a comprehending smile.
"I know," he replied, "I was waiting for the pill-doc's verdict downstairs. But it's perfectly easy, my dear. The sea is simply splendid at Ayr. I'm off there in quarter of an hour; but I'm going to leave Andrew Fraser here to bring you down later on. If I can't find you a suitable lodging before you come you can get one for yourself next day. And if you do run short of money, you can always come to me, can't you?"
She shook her head, but the tears were in her eyes.
[CHAPTER XIII]
Andrew Fraser stood at attention watching a couple of figures, a man and a woman, who for the last hour had been dredging a sea-pool with a landing net as if they were boy and girl. He had watched them at it often in the last six weeks, and, honest, straight-forward fellow as he was, had wondered how they managed to treat each other with such perfect unconsciousness that they were man and woman. So far as his master was concerned, that might be, for Andrew was shrewd enough to see the difference between friendship and passion; but, if anyone was ever heart-wholly in love, Marrion Paul was that person. You could see it in her face; yet it never seemed to influence her actions. The perception of this made Andrew vaguely afraid of her; it put a sort of damper on his own passion for her, since such self-control was not natural; it was barely human.