Just at that moment the eddying currents of the human maelstrom brought him alongside a slender little figure in a weather-beaten habit and a bowler hat jammed down to her ears over a mass of golden hair. Although the knot of hair was twisted cruelly tight, and although the hat did its best to cover it, even a man’s eye could see that it was profuse and wonderful. It was unnecessary for him to look at the horse. He knew that he was beside Lady Mary Granvil, Lady Withers’s niece. “Good afternoon,” he said and she turned toward him. It was a sad rather than a pretty face, but one’s attention never rested long upon it, for a pair of gray eyes shone from under the brows, and after the first glance one looked at the eyes.
“Good afternoon,” he said again. The eyes rather disconcerted him. “Do you happen to know anything about that horse you’re riding?”
“It’s one that my aunt bought quite recently,” said the girl. “She and Cecil wished me to try it.”
“I hope you won’t think me rude,” said Mr. Carteret, “but I once owned him, and I think you’ll find this horse of mine a much pleasanter beast to ride. I’ll have the saddles changed.”
Lady Mary looked at him, and a light flashed in her gray eyes. “You are very good,” she said, “but this is my aunt’s horse, and my brother told me to ride it.” She forged ahead, and disappeared in the currents of the crowd.
“I did that very badly,” Mr. Carteret said to himself, and fell into the line and waited for his turn at the gate.
He and Barclay, Lady Withers, and many other people were stopping the week-end at Mrs. Ascott-Smith’s, who had Chilliecote Abbey, and when he got home that afternoon he went at once to the great library, where the ceremony of tea was celebrated. The daylight was fading from the mullioned windows as it had faded on winter afternoons for three hundred years. Candles burned on the vacant card-tables, while the occupants of the room gathered in the glow of the great Elizabethan fireplace and conversed and ate. As he approached the circle, Lady Withers put down her tea cup.
“Did you have another run after we pulled out?” she asked.
“Yes,” said Mr. Carteret; “rather a good one.”
Suddenly her eyes began to beam. There was a display of red lips and white teeth, and a sort of general facial radiation. It was an effort usually fatal to guardsmen, but it affected Mr. Carteret like the turning on of an electric heater, and he backed away as if he felt the room were warm enough. “I am so glad,” she said.