"Not so dull as the Lacklands are at the Lodge," said the captain, with a pleasant smile.
Violet flushed, simply because Leicester's grave, dark eyes were suddenly turned upon her face with an earnest gaze.
"No," she stammered, confused by her own meaningless flush.
But he did not think it meaningless.
He pulled up the Knight with an iron hand, and in a grim, hard voice said:
"I am afraid I must deny myself the pleasure of a longer chat; I am expected at home. Good-morning."
Violet gave him her hand.
He was too excited and mad to feel that it trembled.
He turned the horse, dug the spurs into it almost savagely and tore on.
"It's too true," he muttered, between his teeth, "that blush told all. Lord Fitz has won, and I have lost. Well, so be it. Africa at least will be constant, if only in death."