He did not say anything.
"I suppose I must apologize," Lady Brayle acknowledged coolly. "Though it was really not my fault You should look where you are going."
H.M.'s face slowly turned purple.
"And now," continued Lady Brayle, putting down the shield, "we must not be late. Come, Jennifer!" Firmly she took Jenny's arm. "I see Lord Ambleside and it would be most discourteous not to speak to Lord Ambleside. Good day, Captain Drake."
All might still have been well, perhaps, if she had not turned for a last look at Sir Henry Merrivale. Mention has been made of Lady Brayle's sense of humour. She looked at H.M., and her face began to twitch.
"I am sorry, Henry," she said, "but really—!" Suddenly she threw back her head. The once-pure contralto laughter, refined but hearty, rang and carrolled under the roof.
"Haw, haw, bawl" warbled the Dowager Countess. "Haw, haw, haw, HAW!"
"Easy, sir!" begged Martin Drake.
He seized H.M's quivering shoulders. Taking the squashed cigar out of H.M.'s mouth, in case the great men should swallow it, he threw the cigar away.
"Easy!" he insisted. "Are you all right?"