"I trust you, Heriot," she murmured.
"My little duck!" he answered tenderly.
At twelve o'clock next morning the London express thundered on to the bridge across the Solway. Mr. Walkingshaw looked up at his son.
"We're out of Scotland now," he said, with a sigh of reminiscent ardor. "Home and beauty are far behind us, Frank."
Then in a different key he added—
"It is curious that my spirits should keep rising."
From which it appeared that he had grown young enough to realize that though lunch may be over, there is always dinner to look forward to.