But all Roger could say was—“Crump passed me by! Crump passed me by!” beating his old hands against the chair, and catching his breath like a struck child. Deb looked round despairingly, and saw Callander, big and burly, outlined against the shadowy wall. He was scribbling something on a folded note. Then he stepped forward.
“There’s a special meet at Crump to-morrow,” he said casually, “to finish the season; the first since the hard weather. Mr. Lyndesay’s hunting himself. He sent you this notice by me, sir, and hoped you’d come along. It should be a fine day, I fancy, by the sun.”
He laid the twisted paper on the table, and the old man’s eyes fixed pathetically upon it.
“Read it, Deb!” he told her, quieting a little, his face clearing, and after one quick look at Callander, she took it up and opened it. It was merely the ordinary notice that Christian was in the habit of sending to keen followers of the hunt, together with an invitation to lunch, but there was a Lyndesay signature at the foot of it, and that was enough for old Roger. He sat with the paper in his hand, his fine dignity gradually reasserting itself, while Callander went on talking in his usual unemotional manner.
“Hounds are in fine condition, this season, and they’ve done pretty well, too, so old Brathay tells me. He was fit to tear his hair during the hard spell, and if it freezes at midnight he’ll be nearly out of his mind!”
“It will not freeze,” the old agent put in, with weather-wise certainty. “The wind’s too low, and there is too much water in the land. It was kind of Christian to send me word. I have business to-morrow morning, or I might at least have attended the meet; but Deborah will go, of course, in any case.”
Deb started violently.
“I’m afraid it isn’t possible—I shall be busy——” she began, in protest, taken aback utterly, but he stopped her with a courteous gesture.
“One of us must go,” he said decidedly. “We cannot both refuse, and as I shall not be at liberty, it will have to be you, my dear. You have no appointment on your own account, I suppose?”
Deb shook her head, at a loss for excuse, realising that her engagement and its consequences had faded from his mind, leaving nothing clear and certain but Christian’s courtesy.