There was a note of satire in the last words which made the Chieftain chuckle once more.
“Not I,” he replied easily. “I can have his society any time I like. Yours is infinitely more refreshing. Keeps up a pretty good pace, don’t he? Scared, you know. Scared to death! Running to cover like a frightened hare!”
“Scared of what?”
“Of you?”
Margot had known the answer to the question before she had put it, but, woman-like, was none the less affronted. Accustomed to be sought after and admired by mankind in general, it was a disagreeable experience to find herself repelled by the man of all others whom she was most anxious to ingratiate. Her face stiffened, and her rounded little chin projected itself proudly, the while her companion looked on with twinkling amusement.
“That makes you feel pretty mad, don’t it?” he inquired genially. “You are not accustomed to that sort of treatment. Most of ’em run the other way, don’t they? I should, in their place! But you mustn’t be hard on old George. When I said ‘you,’ I used the word as a plural, not as applying with any special significance to your charming self. It is womankind as a whole which he finds terrifying. Run a mile any day rather than meet a woman face to face! You must not imagine that there is anything unusual in his avoidance of yourself. It’s always the same tale.”
Margot paused a moment, to reflect dismally that in this case there was small hope for the fulfilment of her scheme, then ventured the natural feminine question—
“Has he been crossed in love?”
“Who? George?” George’s brother appeared to find something mysteriously ludicrous in the suggestion, for he shook with delighted laughter. “Rather not! Never had enough to do with a woman to give himself a chance. He’s an old hermit of a bachelor, Miss Vane, absorbed in his work, and becoming more of a slave to it every year of his life. Even on a holiday he can’t take it easy like other folks. He has some writing on hand just now—a paper of sorts which he has undertaken to have ready by a certain time, and it appears to his benighted intellect that a holiday is an excellent opportunity of getting it through. Mad, you see; stark, staring mad, but an excellent fellow all the same. One of the very best. I have a large experience of men, but I’ve never met one to compare with him for all-round goodness and simplicity of heart. We all have our failings, and there are worse things than a little shyness and reserve. If he avoids you like the plague, try to pity him for the loss it entails upon himself, and take no offence! As I said before, it’s not a personal matter. He knows that you are a stranger and a woman, but I don’t suppose he has the most glimmering idea of what you are really like!”
“Oh yes, he has. I was sitting in the kitchen this morning, and he came and spoke to me under the impression that I was Elspeth! The impression lasted until he got quite near. I was wearing an apron, but still,—I wasn’t pleased! When he saw my face instead of hers, he fled for his life. But he did see it! He knows quite well what I am like.”