“I suppose you will go by the 12.50?” Lady Marjorie said, with a sigh. “We must have an early luncheon; and then I will drive down to the station to see you off. I shall miss you when you are gone,” she added regretfully. “We’ve had a nice time up here together, haven’t we? Do you know, of all Bexley’s guests, you are the only one whose society I have really enjoyed. If it hadn’t been for you, I don’t think I should have stayed in Scotland all this time. I am terribly outspoken, am I not? But one cannot always bottle up one’s feelings.” Again a touch of self-reproach smote Karne’s breast. He glanced into Lady Marjorie’s eyes--such blue eyes, as clear and innocent as a child’s; then feeling that he was expected to say something, expressed the pleasure his visit had given him, and thanked her for her own and Bexley’s kindness. He did not respond, however, in the way she had hoped he would; and his words struck coldly upon her ears. Why did he always repel her whenever she tried to make their friendship a little closer, she wondered, with a vague feeling of disappointment at her heart. It was the same at the railway station, where she lingered until the train moved off. She gave him plenty of opportunity for pretty farewell speeches, but he didn’t make them; and as she drove home again with Bobbie, tears of mortification welled up into her eyes. It was quite ridiculous of her to care so much, she told herself, as she choked them down. Bobbie noticing her emotion, endeavoured to console her. “Don’t cry, mother dear,” he said sympathetically. “We shall see Mr. Karne again in Durlston next month. If you cry on your birthday, you’ll cry all the year round, you know.” Lady Marjorie thought she detected amusement in the expression of the footman’s broad back. “Nonsense!” she exclaimed, with a feeble smile. “Crying, indeed! It’s a speck of dust in my eye.” And another white lie was added to the list on her conscience. CHAPTER VIII THE RING RETURNED “Well, what do you think of this d----d nonsense about Celia?” was David Salmon’s polite greeting when he met Herbert Karne in the King’s Road, Brighton, the next day. He was so full of his grievance that he did not trouble to exchange the customary civilities with the artist. Instead, he broke into a torrent of abuse against the Wiltons, Lady Marjorie Stonor, and even Karne himself, for having combined to lead his _fiancée_ astray. He had been up to Woodruffe that morning, he said, in order to give the Wiltons a piece of his mind, and to implore Celia not to persist in her tomfoolery; but the girl was as obstinate as a mule. “Did you tell her what the consequence of her act will be, so far as money is concerned?” asked Karne, who was not favourably impressed with Salmon’s blustering manner.