To Andy she was a problem, needing time to think over; to Wellgood she was a postulate, assumed not proved, yet assumed to be proved; to Harry she was—save for that subtle momentary feeling on the terrace by the lake—Vivien's companion. She wanted to be something other than any of these. Follow the hounds on foot? She would know what it was to ride! Know and not like—in Vivien's fashion? Andy, slowly digesting, saw her lips curve in that bitter smile again.
From a path near by, yet secluded behind a thick trim hedge of yew, there sounded a girl's nervous flutter of a laugh, a young man's exultant merriment. Harry and Vivien, not far away, seemed the space of a world apart—to Isobel; Andy was normally conscious that they were not more than twenty yards off, and almost within hearing if they spoke. But he had been getting at Isobel's meaning—slowly and surely.
"Being able to ride—having the opportunity—and not caring—that's pearls before—?"
"I congratulate you, Mr. Hayes. I can imagine you making a very good speech—after the election is over!"
Andy laughed heartily, leaning back in his chair.
"That's jolly good, Miss Vintry!" he said.
"Ten minutes after the poll closed you'd begin to persuade the electors!" She spoke rather lower. "Ten minutes after a girl had taken another man, you'd—"
"Give me time! I've never thought about myself like that," cried Andy.
No more sounds from the path behind the yew hedge. She was impatient with Andy—would Harry never come back from that path?
He came back the next moment—he and Vivien. Vivien's face was a confession, Harry's air a self-congratulation.