"Yes, isn't it?" she assents, shading her eyes and looking round. "But my father is not well. He has a headache, and——."
"Why, that's all the more reason he should go!" he responds, promptly. "The drive would set him straight!" he urges, remonstratively. "Look here, I'll go and speak to him."
"And while you do the horses will run away straight into the sea," she says, with a smile.
"No, they won't. If you don't mind just standing by this one, the near one. If he moves growl at him like this, 'Stand still!' He'll stop directly."
"Well, I'll try," she says, laughing in spite of herself; and he goes straight into the room.
Lisle looks up at him with impatient surprise and half-dazed; it is as if the young fellow had brought the brilliant sunlight in with him.
"Mr. Lisle, you don't mean to say you aren't coming?" says Yorke.
"Coming? Where?" He has forgotten all about the invitation.
"Why, to St. somewhere or other," says Yorke. "It never entered my head that you'd refuse. Why should you? If you don't care about it yourself, you ought to go for Miss Leslie's sake. She wants a change, an outing; any one can see that. Perhaps you haven't noticed how pale she looks this morning."
Oh, Yorke!