They rode on, Fitz saving his horse and showing no disposition to turn.
At last Ethel said:
"Don't you think we had better turn, Fitz? We shall not be in time."
"Let us go as far as that signpost," said Fitz. "Then——"
"We shall not be in time for—for Mr. Smythe," said Ethel, forcing herself to say the hateful word.
"Oh, yes, we shall, I think," said Fitz, with a twinkle in his eyes. "Hello, here's my horse gone lame!"
"Where?" said Ethel, but Fitz had jumped off.
"What shall we do?" said he, "he's dreadfully lame; I've noticed it for some miles, but said nothing. I can't ride him back, and you can't go alone."
"What shall we do? Where is a post town?" said Ethel.
"I don't know," said Fitz. "Here's a carriage!" and he pulled out his watch as he spoke, muttering, "Punctual, by Jove!"