“I suppose so,” responded his friend discontentedly. “I think the whole thing is madness! You are not fit to ride a race. I wonder”—turning abruptly to Alice—“I wonder you allow him to ride, Lady Fairfax.”
“I wish I could prevent him,” she replied, with an appealing look towards her husband.
“Why don’t you enforce your wifely authority?”
The subject of their conversation was apparently engrossed in the contemplation of his exceedingly well-cut boots, and did not seem to hear them.
“Do you hear, Fairfax? Your wife takes my view altogether. You are not to ride to-morrow.”
“My wife,” he replied, looking up and transferring his eyes to her, “knows perfectly well that we never interfere in each other’s affairs. ‘Live and let live’ is our motto, is it not, Alice?”
“Yes,” she responded with a forced smile; but she added timidly: “I do very much wish you would not ride for Mr. Campell, he is a most dangerous animal. You heard what Geoffrey said.”
“Said that Mr. Campell was a dangerous animal?” he asked, with a look of comical interrogation.
“No,” she replied petulantly; “the horse I mean. Please do not ride him. I will only ask this once,” she pleaded earnestly.
“Sorry I can’t oblige you, Alice. I have given my word—and you know,” he added significantly, “I never break my promises.”