Margot took her in, with one swift comprehensive glance, as the driver
reined up his tired horses before the door. A temper; a quick temper, a
temper easily provoked, but a kindly woman nevertheless. No country
bumpkin, but a shrewd, capable business woman, with two light blue eyes
fixed stolidly on the main chance; a woman, moreover, blessed with a
sense of humour; else why those deep lines stretching from nose to chin;
that radiating nest of wrinkles round the eyes?
Margot's courage revived at the sight. She sprang down lightly from her
perch and advanced towards the house, smiling in her most fascinating
manner.
"How do you do, Mrs McNab? We have arrived, you see. So glad to be
here at last!"
The mistress of the inn stared into her face, stolidly unmoved.
"It was two brithers I was expecting. I'm no caring for leddies!"
"You like gentlemen better? Oh, so do I--Much!" cried Margot with a
gush. "But they need us to look after them, don't they? My brother is
not at all strong. The drive has been delightful, but rather cold, all
the same. I am afraid he may be chilled." She stretched out a little
ungloved hand, and laid it lightly on the hard red fist. "Feel! We
should love some tea!"
Mrs McNab looked down at the delicate little hand, up into the pleading
eyes, and over her set square face there passed a contortion,--there is
really no other word to describe it,--a contortion of unwilling
amusement. The chin dropped, the lips twitched, the red lines which did
duty for eyebrows wrinkled towards the nose. Similarly affected, an
Irishwoman would have invoked all the saints in her calendar, and rained
welcomes and blessings in a breath; an Englishwoman would have smiled a
gracious welcome; but Mrs McNab drew away from the beguiling touch,
turned a broad back on her guests, and with a curt "Come yer ways!" led
the way into the house.
Behind her back Margot beamed and grimaced triumphantly to her
confederate. Victory was in the air! Mrs McNab could not refuse to
grant a night's shelter to a tired and chilly traveller, and by to-
morrow--Margot smiled to herself, recalling the contortion of the dour
Scotch face,--by to-morrow she was complacently satisfied that Mrs
McNab would no longer wish to be rid of her unexpected guest!