"I beg your pardon; anything wrong?" he asked.
He had been interested in Vivien Wellgood the evening before, but he was much more than interested in the hunt. Still, she looked forlorn and desolate.
"Would you mind looking at my pony's right front leg?" she asked. "I think he's gone lame."
"I know nothing about horses, but he does seem to stand rather gingerly on his—er—right front leg. And he's certainly badly blown—worse than I am!"
"We shall never catch them, shall we? It's not the least use going on, is it?"
"Oh, I don't know. I know the country; if you'd let me pilot you—"
"Harry Belfield was going to pilot me, but—well, I told him not to wait for me, and he didn't. You were at the meeting last night, weren't you? You're Mr. Hayes, aren't you? What did you think of the speeches?"
"Really, you know, if we're to have a chance of seeing any more of the—" It was not the moment to discuss political speeches, however excellent.
"I don't want to see any more of it. I'll go home; I'll risk it."
"Risk what?" he asked. There seemed no risk in going home; and there was, by now, small profit in going on.