Unknown by Unknown

there were famed. The colours were reflected in Loch Awe as the car swept by it, but over the Pass of Brandon, scene of many bitter conflicts, the shades of night were gathering. At Ballachulish a Scottish dance was in progress, and as the strains of the pipes reached them Gray stopped outside the hall and made Frances accompany him inside. A Highland fling was being performed, and after a poor attempt at it, Frances said she would prefer to watch. She had never done any Scottish dancing, and she was tired with her long day out. Gray sought another partner, after finding her a seat. She often forgot Gray was Scottish, but now, among his own kind, he became all Gael. Somebody lent him a kilt, to replace his trousers, and he flung himself wholeheartedly into the traditional dances with verve and skill. The fair-haired girl who partnered him when a partner was needed gazed at him with bedroom eyes, which did not seem to displease him. She whispered something to him, and he nodded. A space was cleared and crossed swords laid on it. Gray proceeded to execute the intricate steps of the sword dance amid loud applause. At its conclusion the floor filled again with upraised arms and whirling figures, who, as they became excited, uttered whoops and cries. To Frances, Gray had never appeared more alien; she had not seen this side of him, and she felt she had strayed into a foreign country and Gray was a stranger. He appeared to have forgotten her existence, and was returning the fair-haired girl’s amorous glances with interest.
    It was very late when they left and the stars gleamed brightly above Glencoe’s sinister crags. Frances was weary and disgruntled, longing for the sanctuary of Gray’s arms, but when they reached the bedroom he exclaimed:
    ‘Damn it, I forgot all about calling Stu. Why didn’t you remind me : ’
    ‘I forgot too,’ she admitted. ‘Was it important?’
    'Yes, it was. I’ve had no news for two days.’ He frowned at her. ‘You’re neglecting your wifely duties, Fran.’
    Stung by his tone, she retorted:
    ‘I didn’t know they included acting as a memo pad. You were too occupied with that yellow-haired girl to welcome a reminder.’
    His grey eyes narrowed to slits.
    ‘I can’t abide jealous women, Fran,’ he warned her.
    ‘I wasn’t jealous, only neglected.’
    ‘But you didn’t know the dances . . .’
    ‘I’m English, reels and flings were not included in my education.’
    ‘Then you’d better accustom yourself to being a Scottish wife.’
    He looked menacing, and Frances knew they were perilously near a row, and over such a trivial matter. With an effort she conquered her resentment.
    'It's not too late to make your call now, there’s a time lag . . .'
    'Fancy knowing that!' he gibed.
    ‘It’s a well-known fact . .
    ‘But I thought you resented anything to do with the States and Silver Arrow.’
    So he had sensed her antagonism to his speedboat, though she had tried to conceal it. Ignoring his remark, she suggested he had better ask for his call before it got any later.
    ‘Probably take half the night getting a connection,’ he grumbled. ‘I’ll say goodnight, Fran, you’ll be asleep by the time I’m through.’
    The implication was obvious; he did not intend to make love to her tonight. Stuart Lambert, or more correctly Silver Arrow, had impinged upon her honeymoon. Wearily she undressed and got into bed. She should not have mentioned the fair-haired girl, but after all, she was only to have three nights with Gray and already Silver Arrow and a stranger had encroached upon them. With difficulty she restrained her tears; it would never do for Gray to discover a wet pillow. What time he came up she had no idea, for, exhausted, she fell into a deep sleep, and when she awoke in the morning, only the impress of his head beside her and the general untidiness of the room indicated that he had been up at all. She went to bathe in some distress; already Gray seemed to have tired of