“But you are!” insisted the giver of the feast. “This is private land, and you ought to know it! Confound it, sir, you’ve no right to ride over private property like this!”
The stranger’s face flushed; but before he could speak Bertie sprang to his feet, and approached the two men.
“Mr. Bradstone,” he said, “this gentleman is a friend of mine, and I can assure you that he had no desire to trespass——”
Bartley Bradstone looked from one to the other with his characteristic expression of moody suspicion.
“A friend of yours! Of course that makes a difference. I suppose it’s all right.”
Olivia had risen, and came slowly toward them. The rest kept their seats.
“Yes, this is a friend of mine—Mr. Faradeane,” said Bertie; and he laid his hand upon the bridle of the stranger’s horse.
He looked from Bertie to Bartley Bradstone, and then at Olivia, and on her face his eyes seemed fixed.
“Although a friend of Lord Granville, I am still a trespasser,” he said, “and I beg your pardon;” and he turned and rode off.
Both Bartley Bradstone and Olivia turned upon Bertie.