“We’ve been a matter of a week, and as for the future, it just depends! Mr Macalister’s been failing for the past year. He’s just unduly set on his business, and his nerves,” (she pronounced it “nearves”) “are in a terrible condition. The doctor warned him he would have a collapse if he didn’t get a rest at once. ‘Take him away where he can’t get letters and telegrams every hour of the day,’ he told me. ‘Take him to the quietest place you can find, and keep him there as long as ye can!’ So here we are; but how long he’ll put up with it, is past my knowledge. He begins to weary already, and of course no man will ever believe that any one else will take his place. They’re conceited creatures, my dear. Mr Macalister—”
“It is nice for him having so many companions. I suppose you know the other visitors quite well?” Margot felt that for one evening she had heard as much as she cared for about Mr Macalister, and headed the subject in the desired direction with unflinching determination. “The Mr Elgood who took the head of the table seems very agreeable.”
“Oh ay, he’s a friendly wee body!” Mrs Macalister allowed, patronisingly. “There’s no harm in him, nor in his brother neither, though he keeps himself to himself, and is always busy with his fishing, or writing, or what not. My husband went fishing with him one day, but they didn’t seem to hit it exactly. Mr Macalister is very genial-like when he’s in health, and he can’t do with any one who’s stand-off. He always says—”
“But Mrs McNab seems to prefer the younger brother. He must be nice, or she would not like him so much,” interrupted Margot once more; and Mrs Macalister smiled with unruffled good-humour.
“Oh ay, they’re just two dour, silent bodies who understand each other and each other’s ways. He goes and has a crack with her now and then, and I’ve even heard them laugh,”—her voice took an awed and incredulous tone—“but at the table he never raises his voice. Mr Macalister says he is very close. He couldn’t get anything out of him at all, and all his friends say Mr Macalister ought to have been a lawyer, for he’s just wonderful for getting to the bottom of things. Of course when a man’s run down, he isna at his best. Ye can’t judge him, as I say, as you can when he’s in his usual—”
Margot groaned in spirit! To keep Mr Macalister out of the conversation was evidently a hopeless feat. She saw before her a long succession of interviews when she would sit caged up in this little room, listening to the expressions of his virtues and failings! To-night she felt a moral conviction that she would soon fall asleep under the strain, and making an excuse of writing home, escaped to her own room, scribbled a few words on the back of a postcard, wrapped herself in her golf cape, and went out into the road in search of Ron.
It was still broad daylight, but now the sky was grey and colourless, and the mountains had ceased to smile. Like grim watching sentinels they stood on either side, closing in the Glen in a solitude that was almost awesome to behold. It seemed impossible to believe that twenty-four hours earlier one had been in the great city, and had considered Regent’s Park countrified! Margot hurried forward to meet Ron, who was strolling along by himself, the other men of the party being out of sight. He looked at her with some anxiety, as she approached, and asked an eager question—
“What’s the matter? Aren’t you well? I thought you were not coming out. You look quite white!”
“I’m cold and tired, and—scarey! The beauty seems to have disappeared, and it’s all so grim and grey. I made an excuse and came out to you with a card to post—but we needn’t take it to-night, it’s too far to the village.”
“Nonsense! the walk is just what you need. You are tired with sitting still, and a sharp trot will warm you up, and help you to sleep. Come along. I’ll give you a start to the bend of the road, and race you to the nearest tree.”