At that instant the cross road on which they had been merged into a turnpike, and with a swerve the grey horses turned to the right.
"But me no buts!" he cried gaily. "We are on the south road, not the north." Then he suddenly grew grave. "And God bless you, dear, for all you've done for me and will do for me in the years to come!"
That turn south had brought them face to face with the glorious line of coast fading away into a golden mist. Far out on the wide expanse of sea the same soft September mist lay like a veil, hiding--what?
Marrion Paul, sitting hand-in-hand with the one love of her life, did not even ask the question; for all things, everything, seemed swallowed up in a golden glory.
Marmaduke's voice roused her, joyous, confident.
"And I've got a wedding present for you. I wouldn't give it you before. You see you are such a wilful customer, I was afraid you mightn't get into the chaise."
Half-mechanically she opened the case he laid on her lap. It contained two very long, very thick plaits of red-brown hair, each held together by an entwined monogram of M's in brilliants. She looked at him and he looked at her in affectionate raillery.
"Now!" he cried joyously. "You'll be fit to be seen. You didn't think, did you, I was going to let your hair be appraised by those young fools? So that day we left Edinburgh--you remember I nearly missed the train--I raced back to that beast of a hairdresser. I didn't know till then, Marmie, it was so valuable; but it was well worth it. Then I had it set." He paused, aware of some jarring note, and added, "You do like it, dear, don't you?"
Marrion, sitting with her long coils of hair in her lap, felt somehow that the glamour had gone from the gold of earth and sky.
"Of course I like it," she said, making an effort, "but--but why the diamonds?"