She told me briefly that she had stayed in Shap to see her father. Lady Ogilvie had insisted on her keeping the calash, so that she could come on in comfort in the morning. From her father she had learned of my wound, and had come on at once to see for herself how I was. She would start back for Shap shortly, where she was to stay the night with her father.
She told me this and then leaned forward, cupping her chin in her hands, and went quiet again.
I was glad of her silence, glad that she was hiding her face from me, for I needed to pull myself together. That something had happened was clear, and, whatever it was, it had struck home. In some way of deep concernment there was a new Margaret by my side, but in another way it was the old familiar Margaret as well, for she was wearing mother's long grey domino. She had unclasped it so that it now hung loosely on her, and flung back the hood so that the firelight made lambent flickerings in her hair.
"I have not seen you for twelve days," she said at last.
"No, madam."
"Have you been neglecting me, sir?" Just a touch of vigour was in her voice, but she still gazed at the fire.
"You are a soldier's daughter, not an alderman's," I said quietly, and the retort brought her head round with a jerk.
"And how does that excuse your neglect?"
"By giving you the chance of ascertaining from your father whether my military duties have left me any opportunity of neglecting you," I answered steadily. As usual with me, since I could not woo, I would be master where I could. It was a source of mean delight to me.
"More logic," she said briefly, and turned to the fire again.