He indicated a blue flower.

"Don't you think that would rather suit my style of beauty?" he asked grimly.

She drew it from the bunch.

"It's called 'love-in-a-mist,'" she said. "Shall I put it in your coat?"

"Please."

He had been starting the engine, and he came to the door of the car and stooped for her to fasten the flower in his b.u.t.ton-hole.

"Will that do?" she asked.

"Thank you." He got in beside her and they drove on.

"Which way shall we go home?" he asked.

"Any way--I don't mind. I don't know the roads, but I should like to pa.s.s those hayfields again."

"Very well. You're not cold, are you?"

"Oh, no."

"If you are, there is my coat."

It was getting dusk rapidly, the moon stood out like a golden sickle against the darkening sky, and there was a faint breath of autumn in the air.

Marie drew the rug more closely about her. She felt gloriously sleepy, and the scent of the big bunch of flowers on her lap was almost like an anaesthetic with its intoxicating mixture of perfume.

When they came to the hayfields which they had pa.s.sed early in the morning Feathers stopped the car and spoke:

"Are you asleep? You are so quiet."

"No; I was just thinking."

She sat up and looked at the view, more beautiful now in the subdued light and shadow of evening.

The world seemed filled with the scent of the warm hay, and once again, with a swift pang, her thoughts flew to Chris.

Where was he? Oh, where was he? Her heart seemed to stretch out to him with a great cry of longing, but her little face was quiet enough when presently she looked up at Feathers.

"Shall we go on now?"

He drove on silently.

"It's been such a lovely day," Marie said. "I have enjoyed it.

Thank you so much for bringing me."

"That's like a little girl coming home from a party," Feathers said. "We can have another run out any time you like."

"It's been perfectly lovely! I was so tired when we started, but it's been a beautiful rest, and I'm not tired any more."

But, all the same, when next he spoke to her she did not answer, and, looking v quickly down at her, he saw that she was asleep.

Her head had drooped forward uncomfortably, and he could see the dark lashes down-pointed on her cheek.

He slowed down a little, and slipping an arm behind her, and drew her gently back until her head rested against his shoulder.

Mrs. Heriot had said that Marie looked years older, and in his heart Feathers knew she was right, but the kindly hand of sleep seemed to have wiped the lines and shadows from her face, and it was just a child who rested there against his shoulder.

What was to become of her, he asked himself wretchedly, and what was to be the end of this mistaken marriage?

He could almost find it in his heart to hate Chris as he drove grimly on through the gathering night, with the slight pressure of Marie's head on his shoulder.

Only nineteen! Only a child still! And a pa.s.sionate longing to shield her and secure her happiness rose in his heart. He had led a queer life, a selfish life, he supposed, pleasing himself and going his own way in very much the same fashion as Chris Lawless had always done and was still doing, but then he had had no woman to love him or to love--until now, and now ... Feathers looked down at the delicate little face that lay like a white flower against his rough coat in the moonlight, and he knew with a grim pain that yet was almost welcome to his queer nature that he would give everything in the world if only her happiness could be a.s.sured.

CHAPTER XIV

"And I remember that I sat me down Upon the slope with her, and thought the world Must be all over, or had never been, We seemed there so alone."

MARIE did not answer the letter from Chris, and he wrote again two days later, much to her surprise:

"Dear Marie Celeste,--I hope you are not disappointed because I did not turn up the other night. I really wish I had now, as the weather has broken, and we've been having downpours of rain every day, so the handicap has been postponed. If it was not that there are several good bridge players in the hotel I don't know how the deuce we should pa.s.s the time. Have you seen Feathers? He said he should look you up, but I don't expect he has, the old blighter!

Let me know how you are. I am sending you a cairngorm brooch with diamonds, and hope you will like it.--Yours affectionately, Chris."

Marie waited till the arrival of the brooch before she wrote:

"Dear Chris,--Thank you for your letter and the brooch, which is very uncommon. I am sorry the weather is so bad for you; it's quite good here. Yes, Mr. Dakers came to see us. I think he looks very well. Don't hurry home on my account. I am quite all right.--Yours affectionately, Marie Celeste."

What a letter, she thought, as she read it through--the sort of letter one might write to an acquaintance, certainly not to a man one loved best in the world!

She showed the brooch to Feathers.

"Yes, it's rather pretty," he agreed. "Everybody seems to wear that stone in Scotland. Does Chris say when he is coming home?"

"No--he says the weather is bad."

"He'll soon be home then."

A flicker of eagerness crossed her eyes,

"Oh, do you think so?"