“Right!” he cried heartily. “Right! I’ll help you! The lad’s a good lad, and a clever lad; but what I do will be for your sake, not his! You are a dear girl! The dearest girl I have ever met—save one! For the sake of the bit of her that lives again in you, I am at your service. You shall have your chance. From to-day forward I will see to it that George makes a member of our party wherever we go. He has done enough writing; it is time that he began to play. Make him play, Miss Vane! He has been old all his life; teach him to be young! He is the best fellow in the world, but he is fast asleep. Wake him up! There is just one condition, and that is, that you leave your brother and his scribblings alone for the time being! Don’t mention them, or any question of the sort, but be content just to show yourself to George, your own bright, natural girl-self, as you have shown it to me. Learn to know one another, and forget all about the boy. His turn will come later on! You promise?”
“Ye–es!” faltered Margot shyly. “Yes, I do; but you must promise too—that you will, that you won’t, won’t let your brother think—”
The Chieftain touched her arm once more, with a gesture of kindly reassurement.
“Don’t you worry, little girl! He shall have no thoughts about you that are not altogether chivalrous and true. It’s not you who are going to move in this matter, remember! You’ve given it over into my hands; it is I who am to pull the strings. No, you needn’t thank me. It strikes me that we are going to work out pretty even over this business. If you want help for your brother, I need it just as badly for mine. I have realised for a long time that he needed a medicine which no doctor could supply.” He looked into her face with a sudden radiant smile. “It strikes me I might have searched a very long time before finding any one so eminently fitted to undertake his cure!”
Chapter Sixteen.
Raspberry-Picking.
Margot awoke the next morning with the pleasant feeling that something was going to happen, and as she dressed, curiosity added an additional savour to the anticipation. What would happen? How would the Chieftain set to work? Would the Editor consider himself a victim, or yield readily to the temptation? Certainly he had so far manifested no anxiety to enjoy her society, had, indeed, seemed to avoid her at all points; and yet, and yet— Margot possessed her full share of a woman’s divination, and, despite appearances, the inward conviction lingered that if the first natural shyness could be overcome, he would soon become reconciled to her companionship, and might even—she blushed at her own audacity!—enjoy the change from his usual solitude.
Like a true daughter of Eve, Margot did her best to help on this happy dénouement by taking special pains with her toilette, putting on one of her prettiest washing frocks, and coiling her chestnut locks in the most becoming fashion, and the consciousness of looking her best sent her down to breakfast in the happiest of spirits.