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
denouement 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.
Other countries may carry off the palm for the cooking of the more
elaborate meals of the day, but surely no breakfast can touch that
served in a well-ordered Scottish household. The smoothly boiled
porridge, with its accompaniment of thick yellow cream; the new-laid
eggs; the grilled trout, fresh from the stream; the freshly baked "baps"
and "scones," the crisp rolls of oatcake; and last, but not least, the
delectable, home-made marmalade, which is as much a part of the meal as
the coffee itself. He must be difficult to please who does not
appreciate such a meal as Mrs McNab served each morning to her guests
in the dining-room of the Nag's Head!
It was when Margot had reached the marmalade stage, and George Elgood, a
persistent late-comer, was setting to work on his ham and eggs, that the
Chieftain fired the first gun of the assault.
"When are you going to invite us all to come up and have tea with you in
your fairy dell, George?" he demanded suddenly. "What do you think of
this fellow, Mrs Macalister, finding a veritable little heaven below,
and keeping it to himself all this time? There's an easy ascent by the
head of the glen for those who object to the steeper climb; there's
shade, and water and everything that the most exacting person could want
for an ideal picnic. To be in the country on a day like this, and not
to go for a picnic seems to me a deliberate waste of opportunity, What
about this afternoon, eh? That will suit you as well as any other time,
I presume?"
To say that the Editor appeared surprised by this sudden threatening of
his solitude, would be to state the case too mildly. He looked
absolutely stunned with astonishment, and his predicament was all the
more enhanced by the fact that already murmurs of assent and
anticipation welcomed the idea from his neighbours to right and to left.
He stared incredulously into his brother's face, wrinkled his brow, and
stammered out a laboured excuse.