“Would I mind? But don’t you mind being seen in such ragged company?” he added, drily, with a glance at his rough and besplashed attire.
“In Bond Street it is just possible that I should. On an African sheep farm the escort is appropriate,” she answered, with a flash of merriment in her lovely, changing eyes.
The distance to the house was not great, but Claverton contrived to render it as great as possible.
“How is it you are out all alone?” he asked, as they walked along.
“Oh, the fact is, Mrs Brathwaite and the girls were busy, very busy. I wouldn’t for the world abuse my guest’s privilege, so I slipped off on a solitary voyage of discovery.”
“And a pretty sort of discovery you made! By-the-bye, I have had no opportunity of asking if you had quite recovered from yesterday’s fatigue, and it has been lying heavily on my conscience. You did not appear at breakfast, and we have been desperately busy all the morning.”
There was a tender ring in his tones as he made this very commonplace observation which could hardly have escaped the other. She answered very sweetly:
“I am afraid I was dreadfully lazy. But I was a little tired this morning. It shan’t occur again; there!”
“You must rest to-day, then, because they are getting up a dance to-night in your honour. You are literally to make your début here. Didn’t they tell you?”
“Now I think of it, they did. Here we are at the house, Mr Claverton. Thanks, so much, for accompanying me.”