For once Miss Graham seemed to have no repartee ready. She sat looking straight between her horse's ears, her eyes still and placid, her lips set.
Then she looked round them with a smile.
"Well, I can't stay chattering with you any longer."
"Oh, give us another minute," pleaded Lord Chichester. "It's too hot for riding."
"And far too hot for talking," she put in. "I must be off! Are you coming, girls?"
As she spoke the two girls who were with her, and who had been talking with some of the men, obediently—everybody obeyed Violet Graham—gathered up their reins, a horseman rode slowly up, and bringing his horse to a stand close beside Violet Graham's, raised his hat.
He was a tall, fine-looking man, thin and not badly made, but there was something in his face which did not prepossess one. Perhaps it was because the lips were too thin and under control, or the eyes too close together, or perhaps it was the expression of steadfast determination which lent a certain coldness and hardness to the clear-cut features.
"Ah, Austin, how do you do?" said Miss Graham, with the easy carelessness of an intimate friend, but as she spoke her eyes seemed to seek his face, and finding something there, dropped to her horse's ears.
He answered her salutation in a low, clear voice—almost too cold and grave for so young and handsome a man, and exchanged greetings with the rest. Then, without looking at her, he said:
"Are you riding on?"