A Moorland Walk

A second time that day Margot came into close contact with Mr George
Elgood. She was strolling slowly up and down the road with "the
Chieftain," waiting for Ron to make his appearance before starting for a
ramble over the countryside, when through the doorway of the inn out
dashed the "Editor," making in the same direction, in the headlong,
unseeing fashion which was plainly a characteristic. When about twenty
yards distant, he lifted his eyes from the ground, became suddenly
conscious of the two figures slowly strolling towards him, stopped short
in the middle of the path, and, wheeling round, darted quickly in the
opposite direction.

The cut was too glaring to be ignored. Margot's cheeks flamed with
annoyance, which the sound of a low chuckle by her side did not help to
subdue. She reared her little head to its haughtiest angle, and spoke
in frosty accents.

"I am afraid I am in the way. Pray don't let me interfere with your
plans. Won't you join your brother before he goes too far? He is
walking very fast--"

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.