Andrew turned aside wearily.
"Has he no?" he replied. "Weel, that may be your fault, lassie; ye can keep a man at arm's length wi' a smilin' face, as I know tae my cost."
A sudden realisation of the man's self-sacrificing devotion came to her.
"An' ye've come to tell me this," she almost whispered, "to tell me to your cost! Oh, Andry, Andry, yere love is greater than mine!"
A sort of half sob came from the darkness.
"God bless ye for that, Marrion--God bless ye for that, my dear!"
The scalding tears were in her eyes as she raised them from her hiding hands to look for him; but he had gone. The shadows were empty.
The morning rose still and serene save for the puffing of the westerly wind that ruffled the blue sea with tiny white-crested waves. The Ayrshire coast stretching south lay green and yellow with ripe corn in little bays and promontories--far away like a faint cloud the cliffs of Ailsa Craig showed almost translucent.
An ideal day indeed for a sail!
Marrion, her mind still disturbed by her landlady's half-threatening remonstrances and by Andrew's pathetic appeal to the same conventional outlook, turned with relief to the prospect of her afternoon's holiday; probably the last one she would have, since she had made up her mind to leave for work next day.