Margot was not in the least in the mood for running races, but as a means of getting warm it was not to be despised, so she started promptly, running with swift, easy steps, and gradually quickening pace, as Ron gained upon her from the rear. She had not been educated at a girls’ public school and been captain of the sports committee for nothing, and, given a short handicap, could often come off best. As the following footsteps grew nearer and nearer she spurted bravely forward, the ends of her cape streaming wildly in the breeze, her uncovered hair ruffled into curling ends. The tree was but a few yards distant; she was laughing and panting, dodging from right and left, to prevent Ron from passing by from behind, when round a bend in the road a figure appeared directly in her path, the figure of Brither Elgood himself, his round eyes bulging with surprise and curiosity. He came to an abrupt standstill in the middle of the road, and the racers followed his example, looking, if the truth were told, a trifle abashed to be discovered in so childish an amusement.
“Halloa! What is the matter? Is the Inn on fire?”
Margot laughed merrily. The voice, the tone, the manner, were those of a friend of a lifetime, rather than an acquaintance of an hour. It was impossible to answer formally; moreover, the humour of the idea made its appeal.
“No, indeed! On ice, more likely! We were so cold that a race seemed the only chance of getting warm! I hope we didn’t startle you too much!”
“I like being startled,” returned Mr Elgood complacently. He stood still, swinging his cane, looking from brother to sister with bright, approving eyes. “I was afraid you were feeling tired after your journey, but evidently you have not yet reached the age of fatigue. That’s right! Thats quite right! I am glad that you have joined us at the Nag’s Head. We are a respectable and harmonious party, but we need life—young life! We may weary you, but you will refresh and enliven us. In the name of our little company, I welcome you to the Glen?”
“Thank you, sir,” said Ron simply, while Margot, as usual, hastened to amplify his words.
“I hope we shall be friends. I hope we shall all be friends. I was dreadfully tired really, but I felt worse staying in the house, and in that little parlour after dinner I nearly fell asleep.”
Mr Elgood’s eyes lit up with a flash of humour.
“But when a man’s out of health you canna judge him! When he’s in his usual, Mr Macalister’s a verra interesting character!” he said solemnly. Then, meeting Margot’s start and smile, he began to laugh again, and to shake in his happy, jelly-like fashion. “Ah—ha, I know! I guessed what was in store for you, as I saw you led away. She’s a good woman that; a good, kind, womanly woman. Her devotion does her credit. When you and I get a wife, sir, we shall do well if we find one half so loyal and devoted.”
He looked at Ron as he spoke, bringing his eyebrows together in a quick, scrutinising glance; but Ron’s face was blank and unresponsive. Enshrined in his heart was a dim figure, half goddess, half fairy, a creature of thistledown, of snow, of blossom tossed before the wind; a lovely illusive vision who in due time was to appear and complete his life. It was a violation of the shrine to suggest a Mrs Macalister! He stood still, his brows knitted, his lips pressed together in a thin, warning line. Margot was impatient at his lack of response, but all the same he looked wonderfully handsome and interesting, and she could see that Mr Elgood regarded him with awakened interest, conscious that here was a character cut out of a pattern of its own, not made in the same mould as the vast majority of his fellows.