"You're very talkative," Chris said with faint sarcasm, looking down at her. He glanced over his shoulder at Feathers.

"Was she was quiet as this when you took her out, Feathers?"

Feathers laughed, and made some evasive answer. He tried not to look at Marie, but his eyes turned to her again and again. It seemed a lifetime since they had met, and it filled him with unreasonable jealousy to see her sitting by his friend's side as once she had sat by his, and to know that she belonged to Chris-- irrevocably.

It had cost him a tremendous effort to keep away from her. Chris had asked him to the house a dozen times since his return, but he had always managed to avoid going. What was the use? He had had his little hour of life. There was nothing more to hope for.

Mrs. Heriot was out in the road looking for them when they drew up at the inn. A faint shadow crossed her face when she saw Marie, though she was effusive in her welcome.

"And Mrs. Lawless too! How delightful--and how perfectly splendid you are looking, Chris!"

Chris walked on with her to the inn, and for a moment Marie and Feathers were left together.

They both tried to think of something to say, but even ordinary conversation seemed difficult.

It was only when Marie's coat slipped from her arm and they both stooped to recover it, that for an instant their eyes met, and she broke out, as if the words were formed without her will or knowledge, "It is nice to see you again, Mr. Dakers."

Poor Feathers! He flushed to the roots of his rough hair as he answered gruffly:

"You are very kind, Mrs. Lawless," and then, with a desperate attempt to change the subject, "Chris looks well, doesn't he?"

"Yes." She looked at him resentfully, but something in his face soothed the soreness of her heart, for there was a hard unhappiness in his eyes, and a bitter fold to his lips.

"He is not happy, any more than I am," she thought, and wondered why. She sat next to him at lunch, and Mrs. Heriot and her sister took the whole of the conversation between them. They talked of golf till Marie's head reeled, and Feathers interrupted at last.

"This is not very interesting to you, I am afraid, Mrs. Lawless."

Mrs. Heriot laughed.

"Mrs. Lawless ought to learn to play! Why don't you teach her, Mr.

Dakers? She really ought to play."

"I'm afraid I should never be any good at it," Marie answered. "I never could walk far, and it seems to me that you spend all the time walking round and round."

Mrs. Heriot looked at Chris.

"Your wife is a vandal," she told him. "I am surprised that you have not made her into more of a sportswoman."

He would have spoken, but she rattled on. "Did they tell you how they ran into us down here ten days ago? Wasn't it queer? And what do you think that silly Mrs. Costin thought?--why, that Mrs.

Lawless was Mr. Dakers' wife! We had such a laugh over it, didn't we?" she appealed to her sister.

Marie had flushed crimson. She looked appealingly across at her husband, and was stunned by the look of anger in his eyes--anger with her, she knew. With a desperate effort she pulled herself together.

"I wonder if people thought any of the women Chris played golf with in Scotland were his wife?" she said.

Mrs. Heriot screamed with laughter.

"That's the first time I've ever seen you hit back," she cried, clapping her hands. "You dear, delightful child."

Feathers pushed back his chair and rose.

"Are we obliged to waste all the day here?" he asked. "I thought the main object was to play golf."

Mrs. Heriot followed him with alacrity, and her sister glanced at Marie.

"What are you going to do?" she asked. "You'll find it very tiring walking round with us, I'm afraid; the sun is so hot."

"I should like to come." Marie said. "You would like me to, wouldn't you, Chris?"

"My dear child, please yourself, and you will please me."

He tried to make his voice pleasant, but to Marie, who knew him so well, there was an underlying current of angry bitterness.

Was he jealous because of that remark about Feathers, she wondered, and laughed at herself. Chris had never been jealous of anyone or anything in his life.

"I shall come then," she said, and walked out of the room.

But before they had got half-way round the course she was tired out, and had to admit it. There were hardly any trees for shelter, and the sun blazed down relentlessly on the dry gra.s.s.

Mrs. Heriot and Chris were playing together and a little ahead, and Marie said to Feathers:

"I'm going to stay here and rest. Please go on, and I will walk back to the clubhouse directly."

They were pa.s.sing a little group of trees.

"It will be cool in the shade here," she added.

Mrs. Heriot's sister called to them.

"Now then, you two! What are you waiting for?"

"You'd better have my coat to sit on," Feathers said. "Yes, I know it's hot, but there are heavy dews at night and the gra.s.s may be damp, and you don't want to take any risks."

He had been playing without his coat, and he handed it to her before he went on to join his partner.

Marie sat down in the shade. Her head ached and she was glad of the rest. She let Feathers' coat lie on her lap listlessly. What did it matter if she caught cold or not? Certainly n.o.body cared what became of her.

The others had gone on over a rise in the ground and out of sight before Chris noticed that Marie was not with them.

He called out to Feathers, "Where is Marie?"

"She was tired--she is going back to the clubhouse when she has rested."

Mrs. Heriot laughed as she walked on by Chris' side. "Mr. Dakers is very devoted," she said softly.

"Devoted!" Chris echoed the word blankly. "Devoted to what?" he asked.

She raised her eyes and lowered them again immediately.