Margot pouted, and wriggled her shoulders inside her white blouse.
“I am shy!”
“You are, are you? Hadn’t noticed it before. Of whom, if one may ask?”
She turned at that, and walked back to the inn, nose in air, but thereafter there were no more demurs.
It was indeed a very decorous little party which sat in two rows of three, facing each other in the wagonette during the eight-mile drive. The clergyman and the Chieftain, with Margot between them; and opposite, the three dreamers: the Editor, Ron, and young Mr Menzies,—each apparently too much immersed in his own thoughts to care for conversation. Margot was quite thankful when the drive came to an end, outside castle walls, grim and grey, but imposing as ever, though they were in reality but a shell, surrounding a plot of innocent green grass. There were isolated towers still standing, however, approached by winding stone stairways, and short lengths of walks along the ramparts, and quaint little barred windows through which one could view the surrounding country. When Margot thrust her pretty laughing face through one of these latter to greet her friends below, every photographer among them insisted upon snap-shotting her then and there, and for a good half-hour she was kept busy, posing in various attitudes, to give the desired touch of life to the pictures.
Photography over, the next duties were to partake of lunch and to wander round the small, and it must be confessed somewhat uninteresting little village; then,—since the return home counted as one of the chief attractions in the programme—the little party broke up into two, the clergyman and his son preferring the longer route, round by the roads, the other four to take the short—cut across the moors.
A five-mile walk across the moors! Given health, settled skies, and congenial society, it would be difficult to name a more exhilarating occupation for a summer afternoon; but, truth to tell, the weather had taken a decided turn for the worse since midday, and it needed some optimism to set forth on a long exposed walk.
The subject had been discussed at lunch with special reference to Margot, as the only lady of the party; but, as she aptly observed, she was bound to get back somehow, and, as a choice of evils, preferred to walk through rain, rather than sit still to be soaked through and through on the seat of the wagonette. It was therefore decided to make an early start, and allow no loitering by the way; but when the village had been left about a mile behind an unexpected delay occurred. The Chieftain thrust his hands into his pockets, and stopped short in the middle of the road, with an expression of dismay.
“Eh, what! Here’s a fine kettle of fish! Where’s my bunch of keys? They were here as safe as houses, a few minutes back. I was jingling tunes on them as we passed the school. You heard me jingling ’em! Dropped them on the road, I suppose, and walked on like a blind bat. Serves me right to have to turn back to find ’em. Can’t lose my keys, you know. Got to find them somehow, or there’ll be the mischief to pay. You’ll have to go on, George, and take Miss Vane with you. There’s no time for conundrums, if you want to get home dry.” He looked towards Ron with questioning eyebrows. “Feel inclined to keep me company? I don’t fancy that walk by my lonesome.”
“Of course I do. I should not think of leaving you behind by yourself, sir,” returned Ron eagerly. “We can’t have far to go, and we can soon catch up the others, if we make a sprint for it. Go on, Margot. We’ll be after you in no time.”