At last the day arrived when the return to town need no longer be
delayed. Mr Vane was anxious to return to his work, Edith to her
husband and children; and the doctor pronounced Margot strong enough to
bear the journey in the comfortable invalid carriage which had been
provided.
Preparations were therefore made for an early start, and poor Elspeth
made happy by such a wholesale legacy of garments as composed a very
trousseau in the estimation of the Glen.
No one was bold enough to offer a gift to Mrs McNab, but when the last
moment arrived Margot lifted her white face with lips slightly pursed,
like a child asking for a kiss. As on the occasion of her first
appearance, a contortion of suppressed emotion passed over the dour
Scotch face, and something suspiciously like moisture trembled in the
cold eyes.
"When ye come back again, come back twa!" was the enigmatical sentence
with which the landlady made her adieu, and a faint colour flickered in
Margot's cheek as she pondered over its significance.
The journey home was broken by a night spent in Perth, and London was
reached on the afternoon of a warm July day. The trees in the Park
looked grey with dust, the air felt close and heavy after the
exhilaration of the mountain breezes to which the travellers had become
accustomed; even the house itself had a heavy, stuffy smell, despite the
immaculate cleanliness of its regime.
Jack Martin was waiting to take his wife back to Oxford Terrace, the
children having already preceded her, and Margot felt a sinking of
loneliness at being left to Agnes's tender mercies.
"Dear me, child, what a wreck you look! Your Highland holiday has been
a fine upset for us all. What did I tell you before you started?
Perhaps another time you may condescend to listen to what I say!" Such
was the ingratiating welcome bestowed upon the weary girl on her
arrival; yet when Margot turned aside in silence, and made no response
to the accompanying kiss of welcome, Agnes felt hurt and aggrieved.
From morning to night she had bustled about the house, assuring herself
that everything was in apple-pie order; arranging flowers, putting out
treasures of fancy-work, providing comforts for the invalid. "And she
never notices, nor says one word of thanks. I can't understand Margot!"
said poor Agnes to herself for the hundredth time, as she seated herself
at the head of the table for dinner.
"Are there any letters for me, Agnes?" queried Margot anxiously.
"One or two, I believe, and a paper or something of the sort. You can
see them after dinner."