"But you never walked over this moor?"
"I did."
"Well, I wish I'd known as much about Yorkshire before I started as I do now—that's all."
Again he twisted his neck and freed it from the chafing contact of a tight collar. After a curious peep at Armathwaite, he bent a pair of gray-green eyes on the turf at his feet once more.
"Percy, don't be stupid, but tell me why you've come," cried Marguérite. "There's no bad news from home, is there?"
"No—that's all right. Edie sent me."
"Why?"
"You said you'd wire or write. When no telegram came yesterday, and no letter this morning, she bundled me off by the next train. 'Go and see what has become of her?' was the order, and here I am. Where am I, please?"
"Near Elmdale. I'm awfully sorry, Percy. I—I couldn't either telegraph or write yesterday. I've written to-day—"
"Near Elmdale!" he broke in. "Is it what the natives hereabouts call 'a canny bit' away?"