"Silk?"
"And he—he asked me to marry him."
"The hound! But I don't understand. Silk here? I see the game; he must have played escort to those infernal women. . . . Somehow I hadn't suspected it, and Lady Caroline kept that cat in the bag when I surprised her at Natchett an hour ago. I wonder why?"
Ruth had a shrewd guess; but, fearing violence, forbore to tell it.
He went on: "But what puzzles me more is, how I missed meeting him."
In truth the explanation was simple enough. Mr. Silk, turning the corner of the lane, where it bent sharply around Farmer Cordery's wood-stacks, had chanced to spy Sir Oliver on a rise of the road to the eastward, and had edged aside and taken cover behind the stacks. He was now making for Natchett at his best speed.
"A while ago, you say? How long ago? The thief cannot have gone far—" Sir Oliver looked behind him. Clearly he had a mind to call for his horse again and to pursue.
But Ruth put out a hand. "He is not worth my lord's anger."
For a moment he stood undecided, then broke into a laugh.
"Was he riding?"
"He was on horseback, to be more exact."